


The Hammer and the (Baggins)Shield

by RogueFanKC



Series: A "Marvel"-lous Hobbit [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Bilbo, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Bilbo Baggins wields Mjolnir, Crossover, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Fluff, Humor, Jealous Thorin, M/M, Thorin Is an Idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-18 12:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1427752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueFanKC/pseuds/RogueFanKC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mjolnir, the hammer of Thor Odinson has landed in Middle Earth, and it has chosen it's new wielder: Bilbo Baggins, the Burglar!</p>
<p>No, the Dwarves aren't jealous. They're not jealous! They're just...sulking.</p>
<p>And Thorin Oakenshield is doing his best to convince himself that seeing Bilbo wield a mighty hammer of the Gods wasn't attractive in the least bit.</p>
<p>And then Thor Odinson had to finally show up...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Not Fair!

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [锤子与（巴金斯）盾](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713710) by [avivatang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avivatang/pseuds/avivatang)



“Is Dwalin still attempting to lift the cursed thing?” Balin sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. As much as he appreciated the stubbornness and determination of Dwarves and the obstinate willpower of his own brother, this was certainly a time where Balin wished Dwalin would simply give it up.  
  
“Yes,” Nori replied lazily, for once deciding to go with complete honesty. Still, it was actually entertaining to watch the giant Dwarf sweating and swearing up a storm, with a face as red as an apple and yanking hard on the wooden handle to no avail.  
  
Balin sighed before casting a glare at Gandalf who was observing Thorin, Dwalin, and Dori, all of them trying their best to lift the exquisite weapon from the center of the deep and blackened crater.  
  
“Could you not have lied when the Princes asked if it was a special hammer?”  
  
Gandalf returned easily, blowing a puff of smoke that formed into a slithering snake, “And could you and the rest of the Company simply have just continued on the journey to Erebor without deciding to investigate the explosion?”  
  
Balin, much to his irritation, had to admit that the wizard had a point.  
  
Damn him.  
  
Nothing on this quest to reclaim Erebor would ever be so straightforward and simple at this rate.  
  
It wasn’t enough that there was apparently a very tempting bounty on Thorin’s head by numerous Orcs and countless enemies that were pursuing them at every turn and close behind their tracks.  
  
It wasn’t enough that they were very nearly eaten by Trolls last night, bundled unceremoniously into sacks and nearly skinned and roasted over s cooking spit.  
  
And it wasn’t even enough that they were only a Company of fourteen, with no other help or allies nearby, on a suicidal mission to reclaim the old Dwarven kingdom from a dragon that has destroyed and decimated Dale and Erebor in a single day.  
  
No, there just had to be an explosion due to a falling star from the heavens last night.  
  
Less than fifty meters from their camping site.  
  
Forceful and loud enough to awaken even Bombur (who had, for one time in the past, slept through a rockslide).  
  
Upon daybreak, when Thorin and the Company decided to investigate, curious about a falling star, imagine their shock when in the middle of a roughly-formed and blackened basin, deep enough to reach over the top of Dwalin’s head and wide enough to form a massive pond, was a single hammer.  
  
Granted, the hammer was very exquisite and beautiful, tingling on the innermost feelings of desire within each of the Dwarves as they gazed on the weapon. The rectangular head of the mallet was a dark, polished metal, carved with intricate designs of a foreign language that not even Ori has ever seen before in any book. The handle was thick, wrapped expertly with sown leather straps and even had a loop of leather dangling at the end as a wrist-hold.  
  
Yet, what was most astounding was that there wasn’t even a scorch mark on the leather or a scuff mark on the metal cinderblock head, despite falling from the heavens and being at the epicenter of a colossal eruption.  
  
When asked by Kíli and Fíli, Gandalf remarked that he could sense a powerful aura of magic and energy from the hammer, as if it fell from the stars itself.  
  
Thorin, though already carrying the Elvish sword Orcrist, was absolutely enthralled by the weapon that fell from the sky and declared it to be the very hammer of Aulë himself, a sure sign that the Gods would bless the Company into succeeding in taking back their home.  
  
Gandalf then stated that like many magical objects, the hammer would only be wielded by the one chosen worthy to wield it.  
  
Upon retrospect, Balin should have realized why Gandalf smiled when he said that.  
  
Because that was akin to saying “any Dwarf who could not lift the hammer should have Dwarf-hood and masculinity questioned and laughed at”.  
  
Which was why for the past two hours, Thorin and the Company have attempting to lift, budge, carry, and move the hammer in many ways that ended in sore fingers, stiff muscles, wrenched backs, and much, much cursing.  
  
And yet despite all their efforts, the mysterious hammer did not even budge a fraction of an inch, cemented to the ground and as heavy as the Lonely Mountain itself.  
  
Some, like Balin, Bombur and Óin, simply decided to accept that the hammer would not work for them after several attempts and were content to move on.  
  
Others, such as Kíli and Fíli kept trying until they exhausted themselves, collapsing on the ground and needing several minutes to stop their dizzy spells and to catch their breath. Their yearning to be the one to wield a weapon of the Valar was just too much to resist giving in to the possibility of defeat.  
  
Bofur yanked so hard at the handle that he pulled a muscle.  
  
Losing his temper, Glóin kicked at the hammer head with his foot. Óin said that Glóin could thankfully still ride on his pony despite his broken toe.  
  
Still, it seemed like the entire trial was never going to end.  
  
Balin wondered if perhaps Mahal was not doing them a favor when he included his creations to be as stubborn as the stone they were born from.  
  
“Maybe we should all try it again,” suggested Bombur while Dwalin, Glóin, Fíli and Kíli all tried to do a group effort to simultaneously lift the hammer.  
  
Bifur gave his brother a weary and exasperated look as he signed in Iglishmêk, “ _We have all tried. Many, many times. None of us can wield the strange weapon. It was not meant to be. And we’re wasting time just sitting here. We do not know how far behind the Orcs are from our position_.”  
  
“Well…” Ori began, and then seemed hesitant when everyone’s attention (even Thorin’s) turned to him before he forced himself to speak, “Not all of us. Master Baggins hasn’t tried to lift the hammer.”  
  
Everyone’s head turned to Bilbo who was absolutely stunned at being the center of attention.  
  
Predictably, quite a few of the Dwarves scoffed at Ori’s suggestion with some of their expressions and sneers being downright insulting. Bofur looked at Bilbo with a soft, non-judgmental look, but one could easily see that he wasn’t entirely faithful. In the background, Dwalin derided with, “You have got to be joking!”  
  
But it was Thorin’s remark that stung Bilbo the most as he said with disapproval, “No. The Hobbit could hurt himself.”  
  
Bilbo frowned. Wasn’t it enough to prove he was not a burden after how he distracted the trolls yesterday?  
  
Huffing and now burning with annoyance, Bilbo started to walk towards the crater. Alarmed, though he had absolutely no idea why he acted this way, Thorin immediately got into Bilbo’s path, stern and commanding.  
  
“Halfling, stop and save yourself the embarrassment.”  
  
“You…you…”  
  
Furious and red-faced, Bilbo was unable to finish the sentence as he side-stepped and circumvented Thorin. Stomping over to the hammer, stumbling a bit on the jagged formations of the crater as he climbed down, Bilbo made his way towards the mystical hammer in the center. Thorin sputtered agitatedly in the background.  
  
“Stubborn Halfling! Do not come wallowing to the Company for pity for your imminent failure!”  
  
“Nicely done, Thorin.”  
  
“I was merely trying to spare him!” Thorin snapped at Balin’s deadpanned sentence.  
  
Kíli and Fíli looked a little hesitant as Bilbo approached. Glóin looked cranky, not even bothering to look up as he massaged his sore fingers. However, it was Dwalin who was the most ungracious as he mockingly made a bow and gestured to the hammer with his hands.  
  
“Go ahead, Burglar,” the Dwarf sneered, “I could use the laugh.”  
  
Bilbo bit his tongue and knelt down, grasping the handle and expected fail and be unable to move it like the others of the Company. Still, a small part of Bilbo had the vindictive thought of how it would serve Dwalin right if he did -  
  
The sudden momentum took Bilbo completely by surprise as the Hobbit raised the hammer off the ground and over his head, the effort nearly throwing the poor burglar off balance. Stumbling and caterwauling a bit, Bilbo yelped and failed around a bit as he regained his balance. Blinking and unable to breathe for a few moments, Bilbo stared dumbly at the magical hammer of Aulë resting in his palms, slightly vibrating and sending a tingling sensation of power throughout his body.  
  
“What?” Nori and Dori both gasped.  
  
“WHAT?!” roared Glóin in a cheated manner.  
  
Both Kíli and Fíli let out soft squeaks of disbelief from their throats, similar to the sound of a mouse being strangled.  
  
Dwalin’s face turned a brilliant shade of red, his eyes bloodshot and bulging out.  
  
“Of course…” Balin sighed, rubbing his eyes.  
  
All the other Dwarves in the Company had their jaws drop in the complete shock.  
  
Bilbo just looked back at the Company in a stupefied manner.  
  
Gandalf just puffed merrily away at his pipe.  
  
There were actually ten seconds of stunned silence before the protests from Dwalin began.  
  
“Impossible!” Dwalin shouted, striding towards Bilbo before rudely snatching the hammer from Bilbo’s hands, “There is no – urk!”  
  
The instant the weapon left Bilbo’s fingers, the hammer suddenly dropped to the ground solidly. With Dwalin’s fingers still clenched around the handle.  
  
As a result, the guard captain was violently jerked downwards before he crashed, face-first, to the ground, his arm now dislocated due to the sudden pull of the hammer’s weight.  
  
All the other Dwarves clamored around to help Dwalin as Bilbo, his hand shaking, tentatively and gently grasped the handle of the hammer before carefully lifting it up.  
  
“It…it feels as light as a feather for me,” Bilbo said honestly, confused.  
  
Dwalin started muttering unintelligible (and unprintable) swear words as Óin popped his arm back into place. Indeed, a good number of the other Dwarves around Bilbo started grumbling at the unfairness of the situation, feeling swindled. Still, some such as Ori and Bofur were smiling, actually nodding their congratulations to their friend and truly happy for the Hobbit.  
  
Thorin expected to feel a headache.  
  
Thorin expected to feel shock, outrage, and insulted that Mahal’s hammer would choose someone as a grocer to be worthy of wielding it.  
  
Thorin expected to (Aulë forbid) feel lightheaded enough to topple over in a faint.  
  
What Thorin didn’t expect to feel was noticeable warmth in his face and chest as he quickly tried to suppress the observation that having Bilbo toting a mighty hammer and laughing in the midday sunlight was actually sort of attractive…

* * *

The first thing Bilbo and the other Dwarves realized was that with Bilbo carrying the hammer attached to his belt, he could not ride on his steed like the others in the Company. Apparently, even though it was as light as a feather for the Hobbit, the hammer’s immotility was transferable. Minty cried out in pain and actually collapsed onto her side when Bilbo tried to mount her.  
  
With that, Bilbo actually walked alongside the Company instead of riding on his pony, with Thorin harshly grumbling that Bilbo had better not dally and force the group to slow down. This was actually all right with the Hobbit as he enjoyed walking alongside the Company, taking in the sights and enjoying the feeling of dirt between his toes.  
  
At first, Thorin was ready to accept the fact that Bilbo was the one chosen to wield the hammer.  
  
Until Bilbo used it to smash a fallen tree that was blocking the road, splitting it neatly in half and allowing the ponies to walk through, unhindered. What was amazing was the fact that the trunk of the deadwood was enormous, almost as tall as Gandalf himself and would have taken even Dwalin days to chop through.  
  
Bilbo’s swing (upon Gandalf’s suggestion), easily shattered it into kindling wood, and Bilbo didn’t even appear the least bit tired from the exertion. In fact, he looked so shocked that he reduced a gigantic log into splinters so easily with just one blow that he comically fell backwards in surprise, landing on his rump, after the hit.  
  
This didn’t help the resentment brewing in a few of the Dwarves (Thorin especially).  
  
And unfortunately, as the journey lingered late into the afternoon, storm clouds gathered and brought forth yet another torrential rainfall.  
  
“Gandalf, please, are you sure you cannot do anything?!” whined Bombur, the rain pattering against his head so hard that water was running down in rivulets off his face. Indeed, the entire coalition of Dwarves were riding in an even worse bout of weather than the first rainstorm, and this brought forth a round of muttering, griping, and complaining that already set Thorin’s teeth of edge.  
  
Ori, who was riding close to Bilbo, couldn’t help but pipe up in confusion, “Mister Baggins, why are you not…not…not wet?!”  
  
This last part was blurted out in shock as everyone turned to see what Ori stated was indeed true. Almost unable to believe what they were seeing, Bilbo, despite walking in ponds and trudging on foot, did not even have a spot of water on his clothes, the fabric and his hair as dry as an autumn leaf. Gandalf tipped his hat to drain out some of the water from the brim before he guessed the answer.  
  
“A magical hammer of Eru indeed. It appears the weapon is not only powerful, it protects its owner.”  
  
“Would be nice if it could protect the rest of us too,” pointed out Fíli bad-naturedly, shivering and feeling his nose run.  
  
“Wait. Let me try something, Fíli…” Bilbo said before he whispered a plea to the hammer, treating it like a sentient being (and actually giving it a soft rub on the metal block) before lifting the weapon over his head.  
  
As it turned out, Bilbo could extend the hammer to protect all of them from the downpour, an invisible shield over them that gracefully buffeted the pattering water with a comfortable cloud of steam and heated air. Within minutes, all the Dwarves were soothingly dry and warm within the magical bubble. The entire company had absolutely no problems with travelling in bad weather after that, and all of the Company was thankful and praising Bilbo for being so dutiful and watchful of his new weapon of the gods.  
  
“IT’S NOT FAIR!” howled Dwalin to the sky.  
  
Well, most of them.  
  
Bilbo blushed and tried to downplay his part, pointing out, “Oh, there’s no need. The hammer actually listened to me as if…as if it was alive. So really, you should thank it for the help. I merely just asked it to protect us.”  
  
Needless to say, Thorin was incredibly irritated, which lingered throughout the day and actually percolated up to dinner time later that evening as he sat on a log, watching the Company set up camp. Thinking and thinking over and over how as the leader of the quest to reclaim Erebor, by all rights, the hammer should have been his.  
  
Balin sensed Thorin’s stormy mood and easily slid himself next to his King. The advisor tried to placate the leader by saying diplomatically, “Things never happen without a reason, Thorin. You cannot question Aulë’s will and choice on who should receive his help and power, and Bilbo is as good as any Dwarf, loyal and with a willing heart to aid us, and it is fortunate that the mystical object is with us as opposed to one of our enemies. I have no doubt that Mahal’s hammer will serve him well.”  
  
Thorin growled before he finally let loose of the injustice festering inside his boiling blood.  
  
“Of course that blasted hammer would serve the Halfling well! The burglar’s the weakest member of the Company who could actually use an exceptional blessing direct from the Gods themselves! It is the only way to be not considered a burden!”  
  
“Thorin…” Balin chided, but now cutting loose, the Dwarf continued his rant, feeling better and better with each hurled complaint.  
  
“It is incredibly galling to think that such a beautiful and powerful weapon of might would go to a soft weakling who never ventured outside his peaceful little Shire! Apparently, it is asking far too much of Mahal to give it to a warrior who is somewhat competent! As such, the gift is wasted on him! Wasted, I tell you!”  
  
Several of the Dwarves were starting to look incredibly uncomfortable, but Thorin took no notice of them as Balin’s tone got a wee bit more insistent.  
  
“Thorin…”  
  
“At least if it went to one of the other members of the Company, we would gladly use it to bring honor and glory to all Dwarves and show our proclamation as a formidable and worthy race! Instead, it goes to a soft, self-demeaning Halfling who treats the hammer like it was one of his doilies! It’s absolutely sickening! By Aulë, the grocer would most likely use it to knock down walnuts from trees!”  
  
“Chestnuts, actually…” Bilbo said softly from behind.  
  
Balin rubbed the bridge of his nose as Thorin stiffly turned around to see Bilbo carrying a pile of nuts, gathered in his waistcoat as a makeshift apron, intending to roast them as an additional treat for the Company to eat with Bombur’s stew. Bilbo, despite looking dejected, simply walked past Thorin, past all the other members of the Company who were watching the awkward scene with baited breath. Pretending that he wasn’t affected by the awful diatribe, Bilbo handed the pile of chestnuts to Bombur so that they could be roasted in the fire.  
  
Thorin was uncertain what exactly was he feeling as he tried to concoct some sort of justification, an excuse, an apology, something to soften what he just uttered.  
  
Until Bilbo met his gaze and smiled sadly.  
  
“It’s all right, Thorin. You were simply speaking the truth.”  
  
With that, Bilbo abruptly turned around and walked away to the far side of the camp, away from Thorin.  
  
Thorin was rendered speechless until he noticed Bofur glaring at him with absolute disgust from the sidelines before the hat-toting Dwarf immediately took after Bilbo in an effort to comfort the Hobbit.  
  
Kíli then shook Thorin’s shoulder, pleading.  
  
“Uncle, please! Just apologize to Master Boggins! Tell him you did not mean it!”  
  
Thorin became stern, his pride kicking in, stopping his nephew with one glare before he said in a dismissive tone, “There is no need to apologize for speaking the truth. A King can never be respected if he stoops to false platitudes. The burglar understands this, and so should you.”  
  
However, later that night, it was not lost on anyone in the Company that Thorin relieved Kíli and Fíli of watch duty and spent the whole evening grumbling and griping, arms crossed over his chest and his face stormy. And Bombur and Bifur both were a little worried at the daggers Thorin was glaring at Bofur as the miner slept near the fire with Bilbo snug in his arms in his bedroll.

* * *

“Ori!” screamed Dori as the Warg was about to pounce on the Dwarf scribe.  
  
To his credit, despite whimpering, Ori aimed with his slingshot, but he was about as good as dead. Dwalin, Bifur, and Nori raced with their axes, spear, and knives in a futile attempt to save their comrade. Kíli, white in the face, was trying to hurriedly notch another arrow.  
  
Just as the Warg was about to rip into Ori, Bilbo then rushed in front, putting himself between the savage beast and Ori. Without thinking, Bilbo grasped Aulë’s hammer and swung at the Warg, hoping to knock it off course.  
  
Instead, what happened was the Warg’s body actually exploding into an outpouring of flesh, fur, and bone, a deluge of blood splattering down on Bilbo and Ori and simply drenching them in dripping red.  
  
“Ori!” Dori gasped as he then grabbed his brother in a tight bear hug, not caring that his younger brother was covered in blood. Ori just clutched Dori tightly as the older brother began to cry in complete relief. Bifur just fondly rubbed Ori’s hair and head. Dwalin let out the breath he had been holding in terror as Nori’s shining eyes looked at Bilbo akin with respect and gratitude.  
  
Some of the other Dwarves, such as Thorin and Bombur, were looking at Bilbo with a bit of apprehension. In fact, Gandalf himself was a little disturbed at how easily the Hobbit killed with Aulë’s weapon (and as much as he tried to block out the notion, the thought also came to how easily Bilbo could kill all of them if he truly wanted too).  
  
Thorin wondered if he was going to need to make clandestine plans to keep a close eye on Master Baggins.  
  
“Bilbo, are you all right?” Bofur asked worriedly, not caring about anything else except about the well-being of his friend as he gently gripped Bilbo’s shoulders.  
  
Scratch that. Thorin was definitely going to make clandestine plans to keep a close eye on Master Baggins.  
  
Bilbo just remained staring at the empty space where he killed the Warg, his eyes wide and his body as stiff as a post. His pupils were the only thing that were white and blank, standing out against the rest of his clothes, skin, and body which were all completely painted in red and bits of black fur.  
  
“Laddie, are you all right?!” Bofur repeated more insistently, grasping the Hobbit’s face gently with both hands and touching Bilbo’s forehead with his own, “Bilbo, say something!”  
  
Bilbo then did with an agonized wail.  
  
“I HAVE WARG INNARDS ALL OVER ME!”

* * *

It was a calm night in Rivendell, with the entire Company taking advantage of the safety and sanctuary after fleeing the Warg scouts.  
  
Well, most of them.  
  
“Are you ready, Master Burglar?” Dwalin sneered as he expertly twirled his axes, Grasper and Keeper, in his hands, enjoying the shivering Hobbit who was slightly cowering with the majestic hammer held in front of his body in an awkward manner. The rest of the Company was lounging by on the outskirts, relaxing and watching the spectacle with keen interest.  
  
Bilbo had absolutely no idea why he gave in to Dwalin’s request to train with his new weapon. All right, granted, despite telling Dwalin “no” ten times in a row, it was hard to refuse when one steals your Elvish dessert and leads you on a chase that ends on a large, empty balcony in the sleeping quarters and declares that the training session has begun. And Dwalin then said that the only way he would relinquish Bilbo’s serving of Lembas bread was to participate in mock-battle until Dwalin was satisfied.  
  
Bilbo just hoped that Dwalin wanted to help him and not because Dwalin was still sore over not being the one to be chosen by the magical object.  
  
“Brace your feet, shoulder width apart, and bend your knees,” instructed Dwalin in a hard tone as he strolled around Bilbo in a circle like a cat with its prey, “Now, since the hammer is ‘as light as a feather’ as you claimed earlier…”  
  
Bilbo gulped at the glint in Dwalin’s beady eyes.  
  
“You will learn to fight with the hammer with equal dexterity and agility in both your right and left hands separately as well as learning to block, parry, and swing in ways that are different from your…Elvish letter opener. First, let us see how well you can block attackers with your new weapon. I will come at you and attack. Your job is to deflect, not dodge, my swings with your hammer with one hand. Are you ready, Master Baggins?”  
  
“Um…well…can I just go back to the hot baths with my dessert and - ?”  
  
“Are you ready Mister Baggins?!” roared Dwalin, barking like a true military commander, and Bilbo let out a strangled, high-pitched squeak before he nodded, obediently holding the hammer out in front awkwardly with his right hand. With a smirk, Dwalin charged with Grasper and Keeper, aiming specifically at the metal hammer and hoping to easily knock it out of Bilbo’s hands and disarm him. Not wanting to cause any damage to Dwalin like he did with the tree trunk earlier, Bilbo merely held out the hammer in front of his body and braced himself.  
  
WHAM!  
  
All the Dwarves watching felt their jaws drop a second time to the floor as Dwalin was flung backwards forcibly before crashing back-first against the far wall and collapsing into a heap on the floor. Bilbo was absolutely horrified.  
  
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Bilbo stammered, feeling shivers down his spine as a groaning Dwalin managed to throw his an incendiary and murderous look, “I just held it out! I didn’t even swing! I did not want to hurt you! I’m so sorry!”  
  
Rubbing his throbbing skull, Dwalin managed to keep his voice even with gritted teeth as he said, “No need to apologize, Burglar. You did well, and I merely...tripped.”  
  
He shot an evil eye that promised a bloody and painful end to the snickering Dwarves who clearly didn’t buy the excuse. Bilbo thought it would be wise to not comment as he made a suggestion.  
  
“Well, clearly, I’m getting the hang of the matter with my new weapon, so why not call it a night, give me my Lembas bread, and let us both retreat to bed and - ”  
  
Dwalin had a disturbing glint in his eye as he smiled vindictively, showing all of his teeth, as he exclaimed gleefully, “Oh no, no, no, no, Master Halfling! The training has only just begun! Now, hold the hammer with your left hand. This time, we will try to see how well you can anticipate your enemy’s tactics!”  
  
“But I might hurt you!” Bilbo pointed out, and by Yavanna, if Dwalin didn’t give him a fiery glower right then and there that would have sent an Orc retreating in fear. Dwalin did his best to not let his annoyance turn him murderous as he barked out harshly.  
  
“At arms, Burglar! Hold the blasted hammer out with your left hand and actually try to hit me this time! I want a swing, not a pretty, limp-wristed wave that only a wee babe could muster! You hear me, Halfling? I want you to swing at me like I’m Azog himself!”  
  
“Uh…like this?” Bilbo asked meekly as he gave a half-hearted swing, only for Dwalin to duck and roll underneath the feeble attack, tucking neatly into a ball to somersault to a stop at Bilbo’s rear. Grinning, Dwalin then aimed the butt of both his axes directly into the back of Bilbo’s head, ready to knock his opponent unconscious.  
  
WHAM!  
  
Dwalin was once again sent flying, this time into a wooden table and its matching set of chairs, the exquisite furniture immediately splintering into kindling upon the impact of the Dwarf’s heavy body crashing directly into it at astonishing speed.  
  
“He asked for a swing,” Fíli couldn’t help but comment as Dwalin woozily tried to get his bearings. Bilbo in the meanwhile was murmuring apologies so quickly that one could scarcely understand him.  
  
“It was an accident! I’m so sorry! Oh dear, do you want me to get one of the Elven healers? I can go run out and - !”  
  
“Hardly necessary, Halfling!” Dwalin said in a light voice with a demented smile that did little to hide the malice underneath as he then requested, “Training isn’t over yet, so do not try to squirm your way out of this one! I must admit that I am…pleased with your progress. Now, next lesson! I want you to try juggling the hammer between your right and left hands. There will come a time in battle where one arm may be injured or unusable, and as such, you need to not only be ambidextrous, but you need to be able to easily shift your weapon from one hand to another as swiftly and easily as you can blink.”  
  
“Like…this?” Bilbo grimaced as he tried to awkwardly toss the hammer from his left to right repeatedly, back and forth, as if he was juggling a rather hot tuber. Dwalin’s eyes glinted.  
  
“Yes, but you will have to practice if you wish to do it quickly, Master Baggins,” the Dwarf drawled, circling ever so discreetly to Bilbo’s right blind spot, “In a real fight, you need to do it with fluidity, nerves of stone and steel, and quickly so that you can defend yourself without being taken by – SURPRISE!”  
  
Dwalin yelled this last word as he blitzed towards Bilbo unexpectedly, raising Grasper and Keeper over his head and ready to tackle and pin Bilbo to the floor. Shrieking, Bilbo grasped Aulë’s hammer with both hands and made a sudden uppercut-motion in his panic.  
  
WHAM!  
  
The Dwarven audience managed to see the horrified and stunned look of disbelief on Dwalin’s face as the hammer sent him flying over Bilbo’s head.  
  
Crash!  
  
And through the marble railing of the balcony, leaving a gaping hole in the fancy stone-work.  
  
Splash!  
  
And down to the courtyard below.  
  
“Oh dear!” Bilbo cried out, panicking, “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! I didn’t mean to! Is Dwalin all right?!”  
  
Kíli and Bombur peered out from over the cracked edge of the balcony bannister, with Kíli smiling in jest.  
  
“It’s all right, Mister Boggins! The fountain broke his fall!” Kíli declared. The sounds of splashing and chocked sputtering amid the Dwarvish cursing and threats in Khuzdul from below clearly meant that Dwalin was especially angry.  
  
Bombur winced as he peered down and commented, “I daresay it is far appropriate that Dwalin’s fall broke the fountain.”  
  
“…maybe the Elves won’t notice?”  
  
“The statue is missing its head and body.”  
  
“…maybe they won’t notice?”  
  
“…I see there is a reason Fíli was chosen to be the Heir to the throne.”  
  
“I bet you five gold coins that Dwalin will quit his vendetta with Bilbo after the tenth loss,” Glóin offered Bifur, sensing a wonderful opportunity to add to his coin purse. The grizzled miner with the axe head in his skull signed back in Iglishmêk.  
  
 _“I bet you ten gold pieces that he quits after twenty times_.”  
  
Nori then popped up suddenly out of nowhere from their blind spots, startling both Glóin and Bifur as he joined in, “Bollocks to you both! I have twenty gold pieces that says that Dwalin doesn’t stop until after the fiftieth time! Or if he loses an appendage!”  
  
Glóin and Bifur nodded their agreement as the three Dwarves shook on the wager.  
  
“Dori…” Ori whispered hesitantly to his brother, “Nori doesn’t have twenty gold pieces.”  
  
The eldest Ri brother merely sipped his black tea, making no comment and clearly not wanting to get involved as a waterlogged and apoplectic Dwalin came blitzing through the entranceway from his furious and vengeful climb up the staircase.  
  
“ONE MORE TIME!” the soaking-wet Dwarf warrior roared as he rushed towards a meek Bilbo once again.  
  
It turned out that Dwalin did not stop attempting to win a single spar against Bilbo for a good fifty-two times.  
  
And that was only because Dwalin had to concede defeat by default when Bilbo’s weapon broke Grasper.  
  
Nori eagerly counted the coin he made and didn’t hesitate in rubbing his victory in Bifur and Glóin’s faces for a good minute. Facing one corner of the room, Dwalin sat moodily with his arms hugging his knees close to his chest, griping and grumbling darkly (and secretly thinking thoughts of smothering Bilbo Baggins in his sleep) while Balin, Ori, and Óin tended to him. Bilbo sat on the floor on the opposite side of the room, contentedly munching on his Elvish dessert and licking honey off his fingers.  
  
Balin said without much pity, “Brother, you should have quit while you still had a little pride left.”  
  
“Shut up,” hissed Dwalin darkly as Óin neatly sets his wrist back in joint. Ori was assisting by cleaning the blood off with warm water and a piece of cloth, trying his best to cheer up the grizzled warrior.  
  
“You should not be so downtrodden, Mister Dwalin. You do not need a magical hammer of Aulë to be any more of a brave, competent, and fierce soldier than you already are. And it was actually quite noble and considerate of you to try to give fighting lessons to Mister Baggins,” the Dwarf scribe consoled.  
  
Dwalin just offered a small grunt, but Dori, upon hearing this, couldn’t help but raise a suspicious eyebrow at his younger brother’s fawning. While sipping his tea. With his pinky finger extended.  
  
Bilbo just concentrated on his Lembas bread, doing his best to pretend that he didn’t notice that Thorin Oakenshield was staring darkly at his back, clearly pensive after viewing the spar.  
  
“Is Dwalin still crying?” Dori couldn’t help but tease maliciously from the background (earning a glare from Ori).  
  
“I’m not crying!” snapped Dwalin before he griped, “…I’m sulking.”  
  
“He’s crying,” translated Nori, smirking as he deftly juggled a small knife between his fingers as he kept gleefully admiring how much money he made from the bet.  
  
Dwalin made a mental note to grab Nori by the scruff of his neck and throw him off a cliff at the first chance he got in the near future.  
  
After robbing him, of course.


	2. Kiss Your Dignity and Eyebrows Good-Bye

“ _Where’s our Burglar_?” signed Bifur discreetly as the goblins all around them roared and cheered for their torture with insane bloodlust.  
  
As discreetly as they could without raising suspicions from their captors or the Goblin King, quite a few in the Company looked around each other to realize the horrifying truth.  
  
Bilbo Baggins was nowhere to be seen.  
  
And right now would be a perfect time for the Hobbit’s hammer to actually be helpful in saving their lives.  
  
Thorin cursed a multitude of foul words, his face scowling darkly, as he swore to himself that if he and his company survived and escaped the army of Goblins, he would personally shake Bilbo until his teeth rattled for his failure and then handcuff the Hobbit to his wrist in order to never let Bilbo out of his sight.  
  
Hammer.  
  
Hammer, damn it all to Mahal!  
  
Thorin meant to say he would never let the hammer out of his sight. 

* * *

“Thorin!” wailed Kíli and Fíli as the Eagle swooped down and carried off the barely conscious Dwarf King from his prone position on the ground. And much to everyone’s shock and surprise, the other gigantic birds of the flock started picking them up from the cliff-side as easily as acorns falling off an oak tree, escaping into the night before Azog could strike at them.  
  
Bilbo’s eyes widened in horror as one of the remaining Eagles glided over to his position, a lone Hobbit among a sea of cracked and bloody Orc corpses when he wildly attacked with the magical hammer.  
  
And he was still holding it.  
  
As logic dictates, if the hammer is unmovable, and if Bilbo is holding said hammer…  
  
The Eagle got a quick lesson in physics: objects at rest tend to stay at rest.  
  
Whump!  
  
Although it was a little hilarious to see an Eagle being taken completely by surprise, its beady eyes wide and comical, as its attempt to pick up Bilbo was immediately jerked to a stop and left the Eagle falling face first into the ground and crashing in a rather undignified heap, wings sprayed out akimbo. A few of the Orcs actually blinked and muttered in the background while Azog narrowed his eyes in suspicion.  
  
That mallet was no ordinary weapon of stone and metal…  
  
“Go!” Bilbo commanded as the Wargs and the Orcs were finally making their way through the wall of fire, “Go and fly off! I’ll be fine!”  
  
If only Bilbo could truly believe what he had just said.  
  
Huffing and clearly irritated, the ruffled Eagle shook away the dizziness from its face-planting and quickly took off from the cliff, eager to flee. Leaving Bilbo alone with Azog and his army as the foul brutes surrounded the Hobbit in a pincer-formation. Now Bilbo had the daunting choice to either engage the Orcs and Wargs in battle or suffer a rather steep drop from the precipice to the rocks below.  
  
“See how treacherous your fellow Dwarves are, Halfing?” sneered Azog in Common, “They abandoned you after you have slain several of my own to save their worthless hides. If anything brings me satisfaction, it shall be seeing the look on your face when you realize that you meant nothing to them, your loyalty wasted, abandoned and insignificant.”  
  
Azog’s eyes glittered with delight at the sight of Aulë’s hammer.  
  
Oh, the relic would be a fine trophy after the Orc leader extracted it from the Hobbit’s hands, cutting the Halfing’s fingers off one by one.  
  
Though he had no idea why, Bilbo had a sudden surge or courage as he raised the hammer and started twirling it over his head by the leather strap, his face grim and set.  
  
Azog and the other Orcs scoffed, sneering in contempt. That sort of move wasn’t intimidating in the slightest.  
  
What a pitiful attempt…  
  
But then the Pale Orc and his brethren noticed that all the Wargs were starting to cower, whimpering, as they backed away slowly in fear as Bilbo spun the weapon faster and faster. The Orcs also noticed how much heavier the air was all around them, the dirt underneath their feet starting to tremble ever so slightly, the winds rumbling like thunder as it swirled gently around the Hobbit as an ill omen…  
  
Meanwhile, high in the air, Gandalf and a few of the other Dwarves were violently arguing with the Eagles once they realized that Bilbo Baggins was not with them…  
  
“Confound it, Gwaihir!” argued Gandalf, arguing with the Great Lord of Eagles while riding on his back, “Turn around and go get the Hobbit! No, I do not care if it is too much of a risk! My friend is alone with the Orcs! Young featherhead, do not make me pluck your neck plumage, bit by bit! I will do it, don’t think I won’t! Do not roll your eyes at me, young man! You still owe me a great debt for that poisoned arrow, need I remind you?!”  
  
“We can’t abandon Bilbo!” Kíli cried, distraught.  
  
“We have no choice, lad!” Óin pointed out, “It would be suicidal to return back! The Orcs would not be taken surprise by the same tactic twice! And Thorin is too far injured to take the chance to exposing himself to Azog again!”  
  
“No! He’s one of us!” protested Fíli heatedly.  
  
Balin shouted at the Princes over the roaring of the winds swooshing past them, “We can try getting Mister Baggins back later after a tactical retreat! Once Thorin is secure and stabilized, Dwalin and a small group can go track down the Orcs’ trails, and perhaps it would lead us to – why in the name of Mahal are you staring at me with those queer looks on your faces?!”  
  
It took several seconds and a quick glance at the other Dwarves nearby before Balin realized that Kíli and Fíli were not staring at Balin, but rather, what was behind him. Balin tentatively glanced over his shoulder and stopped.  
  
For years to come, Balin would have eagerly insisted (and sworn) that on that day, his hair and beard grew just a shade whiter upon the instant the Dwarf witnessed Bilbo Baggins flying.  
  
Their Hobbit Burglar was actually hovering in the air at an astonishing speed, twirling Aulë’s hammer over his head and gyrating it in a circular motion via the leather strap attached to the handle. In fact, upon closer look, Gandalf could see that it was actually the spinning hammer that was guiding Bilbo in his movements across the empty air. Yet despite the heights and the freezing nothingness all around, their Burglar’s smile was so wide, so pure, and so euphoric that many of the Dwarves watching this couldn’t help but feel a little envious.  
  
Dwalin twitched and looked outraged enough to rip his own beard out.  
  
“Bilbo…” whispered Bofur with shining eyes and the most infectious smile ever possible.  
  
“Is he…?” but Nori was so much in shock that he did not finish the sentence.  
  
Bifur signed in a dazed and rather clumsy manner, “ _I see it, but I cannot believe it_.”  
  
Thorin wondered if perhaps he was hit harder than he initially thought.  
  
Gandalf just smiled.  
  
Even Gwaihir and his fellow avians couldn’t help but glance over at the sight of the Hobbit soaring swiftly enough to match their proficiency in the skies.  
  
“Thorin!” Bilbo laughed like a madman, his face and eyes shining at the King, “Look! The hammer allows me to fly! I can fly!”  
  
“THAT’S NOT FAIR!” roared Dwalin (and a few others) upon seeing this. Thorin didn’t say anything, just continued staring at the sailing Bilbo, his golden hair and red coat fluttering in the wind with the twirling hammer above his head making a slight glowing ring of moonlight, the Hobbit laughing with excitement.  
  
Bilbo could not help it. This was pure euphoria beyond his wildest dreams as he cried out, “I can fly, I can fly, I can fly!”  
  
“So can I! So can I! So can I!” cheered Ori, Kíli, Fíli, and Bofur happily in rhyme on the backs of the Eagles.  
  
Dwalin was less enthusiastic.  
  
“DAMN YOU ALL! DAMN YOU ALL! DAMN YOU ALL!”  
  
“Dwalin, now really!” huffed Dori, protectively covering Ori’s ears. Dwalin just sneered as he gave the mother hen an obscene, Dwarvish hand-gesture. Dori absolutely bristled as his face turned purple from the insult.  
  
Nori hid his laughter behind one hand at the look on his brother’s face.  
  
As he passed out from his injuries, Thorin had the briefest thought of how the hammer almost appeared like a glowing halo above his Burglar’s head…

* * *

“Out of all the ideas you have ever voiced in the past, Fíli, this is by far the most asinine and idiotic,” declared Thorin as he glared at his sheepish nephew.  
  
Kíli really couldn’t help it as he started to guffaw.  
  
Thorin wondered if Dís would eventually forgive him if he left only one of her sons alive after Erebor is reclaimed. Fíli was the Heir to the throne, so there was no important reason why he couldn’t murder Kíli with his bare hands and claim Azog did the deed.  
  
“We might as well give the notion a chance, Thorin,” Dwalin admitted.  
  
Thorin snapped while furiously scratching his scalp where the sawdust and flour was starting to irritate the skin, “That is easy for you to say since you’re not dressed like the Halfling.”  
  
“Don’t you mean grocer?” Dwalin smirked, “Shall I ask the shapeshifter if he has a little daisy cart to hold your purchases at the market later today?”  
  
Kíli was now hunched over, holding his stomach and laughing uncontrollably at the sight of his uncle, making Thorin’s urge to throttle his nephew grow at an exponential rate.  
  
Though to be fair, a few of the other Dwarves were finding the attempt incredibly funny.  
  
Instead of his usual attire of metal armor, fur, and leather, a barefoot Thorin was now donned in a simple long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up at his elbows, dark leggings with suspenders, and wearing Bilbo’s trademark red coat. To further complete the rather pitiful disguise, Dori and Bombur made an ingenious mixture of flour and sawdust they managed to scavenge from Beorn’s kitchens and barn to color Thorin’s sable-colored locks and beard to the exact shade as Bilbo’s honey curls. Dori even managed to complete the camouflage by tying Thorin’s long hair into a ponytail and tucking it underneath the collar of Bilbo’s coat.  
  
Although Thorin absolutely drew the line at cutting his hair short and shaving his face completely bare and smooth like any Hobbit. He adamantly roared that the hammer of Aulë was not worth such a heinous sacrifice.  
  
Evan Dwalin had to agree with that one.  
  
And no, Thorin didn’t blush and act remotely embarrassed when he asked (in a demanding manner, of course) to borrow Bilbo’s spare clothes.  
  
The false identity was pretty poor, however. Anyone could easily spot that Bilbo’s garments were straining and stretched tight against Thorin’s muscular frame, ill-fitting, and quite undersized, making the Dwarf appear incredibly awkward and unkempt. The sleeves barely went past Thorin’s elbows, the pants were unable to encompass Thorin’s waist, and the tightness of the coat made Thorin’s shoulders scrunch up a bit together. It was as if the Dwarf King was an adult trying to fit in baby clothes. Not to mention Ori pointed out that there was no way in all of Middle Earth someone would be foolish enough to mistake a hairy, battle-worn Dwarf for a soft, pudgy gentle-Hobbit (even with the attire).  
  
Kíli then pointed out it was a hammer; it couldn’t be that bright to begin with, and thus, would most likely be easy to fool into thinking Thorin was Bilbo.  
  
Fíli then countered with that it was a magical hammer, and it was probably smarter than an Orc and had to contain some level of sentience. Thus, if extra effort was needed to see if the Mahal’s blessing could be transferred to Thorin, then wouldn’t it be worth it?  
  
Especially if there would be another time when Bilbo would not be available to defend them like in the Goblin Caves?  
  
“It is still an incredibly stupid idea,” grumbled Thorin.  
  
“And yet here you are, participating in said stupid idea,” drawled Fíli smugly.  
  
Unable to say a retort in defense, Thorin simply clouted both Fíli and Kíli upside their heads.  
  
Unfortunately, upon doing said act put too much strain on the fabric that was already stretched tight across Thorin’s broad frame.  
  
Rrriiiiiip!  
  
“Oh dear…” Óin muttered to himself as the now gaping holes along the back and seams of the arms of Bilbo’s poor overcoat and spare shirt, now even more tattered and raggedy than before.  
  
Thorin’s face burned.  
  
“It’s all right! It’s all right! I am quite sure I can mend that…I think,” Dori chimed in, though he had a tone of doubt on the last two words. He wasn’t sure he had enough thread in his kit for this sort of damage.  
  
Thorin was a bit embarrassed that the first thought that popped into his head was how disappointed and heartbroken Bilbo would be at seeing his red coat ripped into tatters.  
  
He squashed that thought immediately.  
  
The Dwarf King was just incredibly thankful that Bilbo was off with Beorn the Bear-Man to gather some wild honey for lunch and left the hammer foolishly in the backyard of the abode’s grounds. He was not sure if his pride could take a further hit if the Burglar were to see Thorin humiliate himself like this.  
  
“This is a royal order,” growled Thorin at the snickering Company (Balin just rubbed the bridge of his nose at this foolishness), “We will never mention this ever again once Erebor is reclaimed.”  
  
“Aye,” was the general consensus (and a few muffled giggles).  
  
Ori remained quiet as he innocently hummed to himself.  
  
Technically, Thorin Oakenshield never said he couldn’t write about it.  
  
With that, Thorin stomped over rather grumpily towards the enchanted hammer of Aulë, resting among the grass on its head, serenely resting underneath the twittering birds and warm sunlight. The only thing that was prodding Thorin Oakenshield to carrying out this asinine charade was the thought of finally being able to use that blessed talisman…  
  
Oh the things he could do with Mahal’s weapon.  
  
“Hobbits don’t stomp, Thorin,” Dwalin couldn’t help but sneer.  
  
Face now vermillion, Thorin tried to imitate the slow, dignified and easy-going gait Bilbo had always shown while travelling with them.  
  
“They also don’t prance.”  
  
“PISS OFF!”  
  
“I’m quite sure Hobbits say ‘confound it’ instead, Thorin,” added Dori, doing his best to not smile at the miraculous level of restraint Thorin Oakenshield was showing as his face went through a myriad of expressions in his attempt to not lose his temper and explode.  
  
Well done in, Kíli collapsed on the floor, face first, laughing so hard he was choking as he pounded the dirt ground with one fist in uncontrollable glee.  
  
“Thorin, you could simply try accepting the fact that the Hammer of Mahal will only work for Bilbo,” Óin pointed out.  
  
“Shut up, Óin,” chorused a good portion of the Company in response (Thorin included). Óin rolled his eyes.  
  
Bofur and Ori patted the Dwarf healer on the shoulders in a commiserating manner, with Bofur saying, “You tried.”  
  
Once he approached the hammer, Thorin bent down and grasped the handle before tentatively tugging on the wooden shaft. No luck. It remained firmly planted to the ground.  
  
“Oh dear me, whatever is the matter?” Thorin tried to lightly ask (with gritted teeth).  
  
“Uh…Master Baggins?” Bombur couldn’t help but call out from the sidelines (and he winced at the thunderous glare Thorin gave him), “I’m pretty sure your voice is supposed to be…lighter and not so deep.”  
  
“And maybe say things without appearing as if you’re not trying to pass a stone out of your bowels,” hooted Bofur, clearly enjoying every moment of Thorin’s discomfort.  
  
Inhaling sharply through his nose, Thorin managed to calm himself into displaying an easy-going and puzzled expression on his face, erasing his previous glare and frown-lines. Tugging at the hammer’s handle all the meanwhile, Thorin did his best to coo in a high-pitched version of his voice.  
  
“Oh come now, little hammer. It is I, Bilbo. Surely you do not want this little Hobbit to be late for elevensies?”  
  
“Elevenses, ‘Master Bilbo’,” Balin said, his tone of voice clearly full of disapproval.  
  
“This is actually painful to watch,” Glóin muttered to Dwalin as Fíli joined his brother on the ground, howling with glee.  
  
Bifur signed back, “ _I know. This isn’t going to work_.”  
  
Dori called out to Thorin, “You are not really acting like a Hobbit.”  
  
Thorin felt his temper rise and bubble, making his face flushed as he then growled (still in a falsetto), “Little Hammer, it would please me greatly if you start being cooperative with your master. You surely know that I am Bilbo, do you not? Please do not be stubborn! See my coat, see my golden hair, see the way how I adore food, sunshine, flowers, and…Elves.”  
  
It was amazing and nothing short of a miracle that Thorin could say that last part without screaming. Though the frozen smile almost ended as a grimace and Thorin’s voice slightly went hoarse as if he trying his best not to choke.  
  
“I can’t believe he actually said that,” blinked Dwalin in shock, “Not even I would be willing to go that far!”  
  
Balin sighed to himself, “This will not end well.”  
  
Thorin’s arms were now straining against the wooden handle, the veins sticking out of his biceps, and the sleeves of Bilbo’s coat and shirt now ripping under the bulges.  
  
“Come now, Hammer of Mahal,” Thorin said in a tone that he could muster as close as he could to begging, with one eye twitching as Kíli and Fíli continued to guffaw, “Surely you can help your little Burglar Friend. Once this unpleasant adventure is finished, I shall take you into my Mountain – I mean Bag End! Bag End! And I shall place you among my china, my doilies, my pantry, and my…my…”  
  
Blast it all, what else did that grocer care about in his little home?!  
  
“…my Mother’s glory hole,” Thorin finished weakly.  
  
The uproar of hooting and laughter was immediate after that, and Thorin right then and there knew it was possible for one to die of embarrassment.  
  
“I believe you meant ‘glory box’, Mister Baggins,” Ori managed to call out with a straight face as Nori was bent over, slapping his knee in mirth.  
  
At his absolute end, Thorin broke his pitiful attempt at subterfuge and then roared a multitude of curse words in Khuzdul at the object of his frustration before yelling that the hammer could go perform a lewd act with Azog and the Orc’s mother.  
  
It was just pure coincidence that the hammer chose to tip over on its side at that moment.  
  
Directly on Thorin’s foot.  
  
Thorin’s resulting scream of agony was loud enough to startle all the horses and giant bees in Beorn’s farm.  
  
“I’m sorry, what was that? I must be getting deaf. You simply must speak louder, your Majesty,” Óin was heard calling facetiously from the sidelines, holding up his ear trumpet.  
  
From a hidden distance, Beorn, Gandalf, and Bilbo were watching all of this with various degrees of humor and amusement. Gandalf just serenely puffed away at his pipe while Bilbo was doing his best to not offend Thorin and the Company with his giggling by hiding his smiles with both hands over his mouth. And grumpy old Beorn finally had to smile, showing his canines.  
  
“I do not like Dwarves, but I do admit that this is funny,” the shapeshifter admitted to his guests.  
  
“You want to look away, but you can’t,” Bilbo agreed as all the Dwarves tried pulling on the handle of the hammer in unison, hoping to get it to lift just enough so that Thorin could extract his toes out from underneath the metal head.

* * *

“…oh dear,” was all Bilbo could say, wide-eyed and his heart pounding hard against his chest.  
  
“Is it safe now?” Fíli asked breathlessly, shoving off the dead and smoking charred wood that tumbled and collapsed on him. He was extremely grateful he was able to shield Kíli with his own body when the avalanche of broken boughs collapsed on them.  
  
“Is anyone seriously injured?” Thorin managed to ask despite his mind and awe racing at what had transpired. Thankfully, a quick look around showed that despite bruises, cuts, and disorientation, all the Dwarves were pretty much unharmed. Although he hoped that eventually his ears would stop ringing…  
  
“That was rather unexpected,” Balin admitted, his expression wary as he stared at the sea of charred corpses all around. Although he wasn’t sure if it putrid odor of smoke and burning ashes was due to the blackened bodies of the spiders or the smoldering branches of the trees blanketing the ground.  
  
“That was loud enough for me to hear it! And without my trumpet!” Óin couldn’t help but marvel in awe as he nudged the stiff body of an electrocuted spider with a foot, the foul beast now petrified with rigor mortis and an empty shell. The Dwarf healer then looked upon Bilbo with the same gaze of reverence.  
  
“By the forge and grace of Mahal himself, that mallet is a truly powerful weapon!” Óin said in a hushed whisper, staring at the glowing head that crackled and sparked with white strands of electricity. And he was not the only one; all the others in the Company were gaping at the relic with wide eyes, wary expressions, and slack jaws.  
  
Bilbo however looked absolutely terrified at the fact that his hammer did this much damage. He was hyperventilating and whimpering softly, his hands quaking. It was almost as if he was in shock.  
  
Thorin repressed the urge to run over and envelop the Hobbit in his arms. He was above that…  
  
To everyone’s surprise, Dwalin then reached out and comfortingly squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder, his face soft.  
  
Dwalin grumbled behind his beard, “You saved all our lives and killed all the spiders threatening us. Some of us may not have made it if you and Mahal had not acted. Focus on that and not on how easily you caused so much destruction.”  
  
Bilbo blinked before he gave a shaky smile and squeezed back Dwalin’s hand with his own.  
  
No, Thorin was not jealous. Not in the damned slightest.  
  
Meanwhile, Bifur looked up and signed, confused, “ _I thought we couldn’t burn the wood_.”  
  
“There’s a blasted difference between trying to set the wood for a campfire and having the wood being struck by cursed lightning!” snapped Nori as a few severed tree stumps popped and bubbled their sap at the glowed seared edges where their branches used to be.  
  
“On the bright side, we now can see the sky without any difficulty,” Ori said with relief, seeing the enormous and expansive gap above, devoid of any murky cover and shadows as the sun and a cooling breeze emerged from the blue, cloudless sky above.  
  
A thought then struck Balin as he warned, “Perhaps we should gather our supplies and leave now. With such a huge clamor, it would not be hard for the Mirkwood Elves - ”  
  
There was the sudden sound of bowstrings as a multitude of arrows were aimed at their position, making Thorin and everyone else in the Company freeze in shock.  
  
“…to immediately arrive,” finished Balin weakly.  
  
Legolas snarled a command as he aimed an arrow at Bilbo Baggins, immediately seeing him as the biggest threat, “Drop your weapons!”  
  
Thorin, though he had no idea why, immediately got in front of Bilbo, putting himself in the path of the Elf’s arrow, much to the worried chatter of the other Dwarves all around him. Legolas smirked. Did the Dwarf really think that the Mirkwood Prince wouldn’t kill him?  
  
“Bilbo, do what you have to…” Thorin whispered fiercely. Upon hearing that, Legolas was about to let loose his shaft and give the order for the other Elves to massacre the intruders.  
  
Until Bilbo quietly set the hammer on its head on the floor and walked forward, past Thorin with his hands up in a submissive manner.  
  
Thorin felt his eyes pop out so hard that there was a building pressure in his skull as one side of his jaw clenched up in absolute indignation. He couldn’t hear anything else but the blood roaring in his ears.  
  
Is this a ruse?!  
  
What are you doing, you dimwitted Burglar?!  
  
Pick up the hammer!  
  
Fight them!  
  
Obliterate them!  
  
MAKE THE ELVES SUFFER, DAMN YOU!  
  
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!  
  
“We seek audience with your King,” Bilbo declared in a gentle, easy-going voice, “We are travelers who need safe passage out of Mirkwood. We mean you no harm, and we would ask if the Elves would be gracious enough to provide food and drink to our starving Company. If you can help my friends, we shall come quietly and tell your King our reasons of travel.”  
  
The buzzing in Thorin’s head overwhelmed his senses before his eyes rolled upwards.  
  
Whump!  
  
“Uncle!” Kíli gasped, seeing the prone form of Thorin falling on his back and collapsing in a heap.  
  
“Is he all right? He’s not dead, is he?! Hey, let go!” Fíli shouted before he was roughly hauled off and restrained by two Elves before he could dash over to Thorin’s side.  
  
“No, I think - ”  
  
Balin paused, taking a second look just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating before he continued.  
  
“…I think Thorin fainted,” Balin said, stunned.  
  
“Now that is acting like a Hobbit,” Dori couldn’t help but quip.

* * *

“I see…” was all Thranduil said, glaring at Thorin, who was being restrained by two Elvish guards. Bilbo stood next to the Dwarf King while the rest of the Company (with their hands bound in front of them) watched with suppressed resentment and quivering anticipation.  
  
“Give me one good reason why I should not simply throw all of you in our dungeons until you all perish upon reaching the end of your mortal lives,” the Ruler of Mirkwood demanded.  
  
Bilbo’s eyes widened with dread as Thorin growled, giving Bilbo an evil eye, a look of blame. The Hobbit did not anticipate this happening; he thought the potentate could be reasoned with, was amiable like Lord Elrond.  
  
Oh dear, and the magical hammer of power was back at the abandoned clearing where he left it. Once the Elves realized they could not even carry it (though many have tried), they just hurriedly abandoned the artifact while escorting the Company forcefully after taking them prisoner, not willing to remain and let the spiders regroup and ambush them.  
  
Bilbo felt his heart thud and flutter nervously as he made an internal plea, a prayer that the hammer would suddenly find its way back to him.  
  
Please…  
  
But that was impossible. The hammer was not sentient, even if it did come from the stars and the Valar.  
  
Oh by Yavanna, this could end very badly. Still, Bilbo tried to diplomatically appeal to Thranduil’s conscience.  
  
“Because it is the right thing to do, because the Dwarves need a home and have a right to reclaim their birthright and the very place their ancestors and history came from! Because Gandalf and the Elves of Rivendell even agree that it was time for Thorin to be the next King as his legacy! Because the Vala Aulë blessed Thorin and his Dwarves with his hammer! Surely that is a sign that Thorin needs to fulfill his destiny at the Lonely Mountain!”  
  
“So you claim…” sniffed Thranduil, giving Thorin a look of pure contempt.  
  
SMASH!  
  
There was a general clamor of yelling and noises of surprise before Thorin and the Company’s jaws dropped for a second time on that day.  
  
The mighty hammer of Mahal, the beautiful and powerful weapon of magic and stone and lightning, came speedily soaring through the air, flying like an arrow before it made a line directly for Bilbo Baggins. Amazed and suddenly frightened at the incoming object, Bilbo yelped and threw his arms out in front only to single-handedly catch the mallet into his hands, as smoothly as any seasoned warrior.  
  
Several of the Elvish guards immediately fired their arrows, but before Thorin could shout out a warning, the weapon of Aulë invoked a magical and invisible shield that easily bounced the arrows off harmlessly. This invoked several gasps as the Mirkwood residents stared at the Hobbit as if he was Sauron himself, while Thranduil narrowed his eyes.  
  
He could sense the aura, an ethereal presence that was not from this world…  
  
A Mirkwood guard breathlessly ran into the throne room, reporting in a dazed and disbelieving tone of voice, “Your Majesty! The front entrance! The palace gates have been completely demolished! With a single blow!”  
  
“Oh my…” Ori noted as he craned his head and looked over his shoulder, “I can see the hole in the doors all the way from here.”  
  
“What’s left of the doors,” corrected Kíli, seeing the twisted and shattered sheets of wood and metal now lying on the ground, torn off their hinges and completely misshapen, broken, and useless.  
  
Bilbo, extremely embarrassed and uncomfortable with all the stares, meekly lifted the hammer and replied, “Um…actually, the hammer of Aulë claims?”  
  
“That is no ordinary hammer…” breathed Tauriel in awe, witnessing its power for the first time. All right, as crazy and unbelievable as it sounded, she was tempted to believe the Halfling.  
  
Frustrated at how the interrogation was not going in the way he planned, Thranduil then aimed a beady eye at Thorin who was angrily trying to struggle out of the grip of the guards restraining him by his shoulders and bound arms.  
  
“It bothers you, does it not?” the Elvish King sneered, gracefully emerging from his throne, “That you were not chosen by your all-powerful Aulë who has always been merciful and gracious of his children borne of stone?”  
  
“Um…your Majesty, please - ?” Bilbo tried to interrupt, but Thranduil paid no attention, now enjoying seeing the flush of anger and jealousy in Thorin’s cheeks. He continued, stride elegantly like a satisfied cat, purring all the meanwhile.  
  
“I can only imagine how your pride must be after realizing that you, a mighty Prince and once the future King of the Lonely Mountain, is not only reduced to a beggar and a blacksmith, but has to swallow the notion that even your beloved Aulë finds you unfit to channel his might and power. Instead, he chooses the gentle Halfling from the green fields of the Shire.”  
  
“Your Majesty, please do not aggravate him,” Bilbo pleaded, now becoming a bit bothered at how Thorin’s face was slowly turning purple.  
  
“Could it because the Halfling is lucky?” Thranduil drawled, bringing his cold eyes and smug expression closer to a thrashing Thorin, muttering Dwarvish curses, “Or could it be that your Vala did this so that once you slay Smaug, He will ensure that another dragon will not take its place such as your mad Grandfather?”  
  
Kíli and Fíli lunged forward Thranduil, ready to tackle and beat him to the floor in defense of their Uncle, despite being bound. Yet their captors quickly pinned the two Princes to the floor, pressing their heads and bodies excruciatingly against the marble ground. The other outraged Dwarves started shouting, adding their voices to a rather disturbing uproar while Bilbo timidly tried to calm things down.  
  
“Oh really, now, your Majesty! That’s uncalled for! Thorin is a wonderful Dwarf who - !”  
  
The Elf monarch carried on as if he did not hear, twisting the knife as Thorin was now forced on his knees at knife-point, frothing at the mouth with bared teeth. Thranduil then showed full sadistic glee as he intoned, “You know it is far from the realm of impossibility, Thorin Durinson. So much you try to prove your worth and might as worthy sovereign, watching over your fellow exiles while suffering for a measly pittance and scraps. So much you try to show bravery, dedication, honor to those who have fallen in the siege. And for what? To see a Hobbit be your Defender, your Champion? A further reminder of how Aulë still finds your unworthy, ignoble because he lacks faith in your ability to refrain from the sickness in your lineage?”  
  
“That is enough!” Bilbo declared, now outraged on behalf of his friend.  
  
“Lie in filth with the other swine, you - !” Fíli’s insult was left incomplete as the other Dwarves now started to try to mob Thranduil, shouting a massive uproar of insults, threats, and Khuzdul, only to be brought to their knees as well by the Mirkwood Elves. Legolas was smirking, clearly entertained. Tauriel looked reserved, but she gave her Prince a glare for his tactlessness.  
  
“Who will you sacrifice first once you reclaim the Lonely Mountain?” the Elf King drawled, “Once you slay the beast and see all the riches and precious treasures of your people? Will you turn your back on Aulë himself, forsaking him and turning your reverence to your gold? Will you stab your Hobbit friend in the back as soon as you no longer need him, hoping to eliminate the potential danger and possibility of the Halfling taking over your mountain? Perhaps your Company will also be disposed of, their loyalty and brotherhood rendered meaningless once the dragon-sickness convinces you that the spoils of Erebor are far more important and worthwhile? I would even be safe to guess that your own kin, the Princes I see before me, will be viewed as usurpers of your throne, greedy and double-dealing like your Father and Grandfather. And not even the love of your family will triumph over the love of your Arkenstone, the blood you all share in your veins meaningless as you one day are fearful enough to slit your nephews’ throats while they sleep.”  
  
“That is absolutely enough, your Majesty!” snapped Bilbo, at the end of his patience.  
  
Unfortunately, Bilbo didn’t realize that the hammer in his hands would react accordingly to his defensive anger, sensing the emotions of its Hobbit wielder.  
  
All the chatter and yelling in the Mirkwood throne room immediately was brought to a screeching halt as the stone and metal head of Mahal’s relic crackled dangerously as there was a sudden flash and rumbling of thunder from above…

* * *

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I did not mean it! I’m sorry! It was an accident!” Bilbo continued to babble for the umpteenth time.  
  
“You are incredibly fortunate that you and your Dwarvish barbarians aren’t rotting away in our prisons for the next hundred years! And cease your puerile laughing!” seethed Legolas before barking out that last sentence at the hooting Dwarves as he and Tauriel escorted them through the safe passage exiting Mirkwood.  
  
It was pretty clear that the normally stoic Elf was rather peeved and miffed about what happened to his father. Tauriel had to admit that she had never seen Legolas this emotional before in all of her existence.  
  
The Dwarves paid no attention to the Elvish Prince as they continued cackle and howl with much merriment and joy as they walked, joking and recalling the events with glee. Thorin was not laughing, but his eyes sparkled and he was sporting the most uncharacteristic and exhilarated smile of joy on his face. In fact, Balin could honestly say that he had never seen Thorin happier than now at this moment.  
  
Bilbo tried to appease Legolas’ resentment as he continued, “I’m so sorry! I did not mean to summon the lightning! Please believe me that it was not intentional!”  
  
Tauriel, the Elf Guard Captain, gave Bilbo a condescending glare as she frostily intoned, “I am quite certain even the dimmest Elf could guess that considering the look of horror on your face and the way you kept begging the hammer to cease and desist while running around in circles like a dumb beast.”  
  
“If even the dimmest Elf could see it, then what does that make you two for accompanying us?” sneered Dwalin as he hefted a better grip on his sack, now loaded with dried fruit and supplies.  
  
“Unluckily chosen for the proverbial short stick to clean up after your messes and play the nanny,” muttered Legolas before barking at the Company, “I said cease your laughter, you filthy-mouthed Dwarves!”  
  
Tauriel then sniffed rather pointedly, “Even with an enchanted weapon of the Valar, someone needs to ensure that you Dwarves do not make another disaster of this entire fool of a quest to retake your Lonely Mountain.”  
  
“Translation: your King wants us out of his lands and out of his hair as quickly as possible and wants the both of you to ensure we meet our end by Smaug,” sneered Nori. Tauriel glared at the Dwarf thief for his ungraciousness.  
  
“The one thing I am actually grateful for is that the Halfling of this group wields Aulë’s hammer because as opposed to the rest of these gold-sick, insane, mud-spawns, he is actually the one least likely to make this predicament to kill the wyrm even more of a farce and calamity. What did I just tell you?!”  
  
Legolas was completely at the end of his rope as the Dwarves kept guffawing, nearly choking on their howling. And Legolas just itched to shoot one of them…  
  
“This entire journey through rations, bad weather, and nearly eaten by Trolls and Goblins was completely worth the look on that King Tree-Shagger’s face!” hooted Glóin.  
  
“I’m going to treasure the look of rage for years to come!” giggled Ori, already trying to envision every detail of Thranduil’s expression so he could sketch it later in his journal.  
  
Bombur hiccupped as he laughed, “It was rather entertaining to see the King of Mirkwood jumping up and down, red-faced and screaming, like a Dwarfling with a temper tantrum, wasn’t it?”  
  
“I thought he was jumping up and down because his robes caught on fire?” Dori leered with a toothy smile.  
  
“Well, yes, but the tree-shagger was also jumping up and down because his fancy crown also went aflame,” Bofur snickered.  
  
“Along with a good portion of the Throne Room,” Dwalin sniggered.  
  
“If anything, Mahal improved the décor!” cheered Fíli and that set off another round of conviviality. Legolas immediately reached for the swords lashed to his back, but Bilbo Baggins, alarmed, immediately stepped out in front and held out both hands in a pleading and placating manner.  
  
“Please, Prince Legolas, let us simply try to exit out of this forest. The sooner we are all out of Mirkwood, the happier everyone will be. Both for the Elves and Dwarves. And I already promised three chests of all the gems I can find in my share to pay for damages to the forest!” Bilbo begged diplomatically.  
  
The only thing that stopped the blond Elf from attacking Bilbo as well was the sight of the magical hammer lashed to Bilbo’s belt.  
  
“If anything, three chests of gems is too frugal a price to compensate the giant hole in the ceiling of my Father’s palace,” Legolas growled.  
  
“Good. Then perhaps it can accompany with the giant hole in Thranduil’s head,” returned Balin smoothly, his face blank. Legolas’ eyes narrowed.  
  
Tauriel then gracefully broke the tension.  
  
“Your Highness, we are wasting time. There is still a great distance we must travel.”  
  
Legolas inhaled sharply, his nostrils whiter than alabaster, his mouth stretched to a displeased line. He then glared at the Hobbit.  
  
“For the record: I blame you for this entire mess,” Legolas coldly intoned, his voice like pure ice as he turned heel and strode away bad-naturedly.  
  
Bilbo felt his heart sank; it was pretty likely he would never be forgiven for the accident in the throne room.  
  
“Bilbo…” a deep voice said behind him.  
  
Gulping, Bilbo turned to Thorin, expecting a lecture, reprimand, and a scolding rant on how he endangered their mission, how he was a complete and reckless fool, how he was a spineless weakling for bargaining with their enemy, how Mahal made an error in selecting him, a Gentle-Hobbit from the Shire, to be the chosen one with his hammer.  
  
However, to Bilbo’s surprise, Thorin looked awkward and hesitant and…was he blushing?  
  
“I…that was…I appreciated…” stammered Thorin.  
  
Bilbo blinked as Thorin trailed off, leading to several seconds of an awkward silence.  
  
Wait, was Thorin trying to say - ?  
  
The Dwarf King then took a deep breath before he strode forward, cupped Bilbo’s face with one warm hand and kissed the Hobbit. On the lips.  
  
Bilbo was so surprised and taken aback that he could do nothing before it registered how pleasantly warm Thorin’s mouth was, how much Bilbo wanted to just snuggle against Thorin’s presence and body heat.  
  
For several seconds, all Thorin and Bilbo could do was enjoy the moment as they drew close. Thorin was actually surprised how much Bilbo wanted it as much as he did.  
  
Nori then called out annoyingly, “Pay up! I won the pool!”  
  
There were several rounds of grumbling before Fíli, Óin, Glóin, and Dwalin tossed a coin bag to the Dwarvish thief. Dwalin muttered with an evil eye cast at Nori, “I hope you choke on it.”  
  
“I’m sorry, I cannot hear you over the clinking of your money,” bragged Nori rather smarmily as he jingled his rewards.  
  
Bofur was white in the face, stricken as if he was slapped. Though he couldn’t say it was because Thorin kissed Bilbo or because Bilbo had a sudden smile of pure bliss and joy on his face once the kiss ended…  
  
Excitedly, Bilbo wanted to eagerly talk, to discuss what the kiss meant, and if Thorin truly felt the same way. But to his slight disappointment, Thorin’s coughed and turned his gaze to the floor, as if ashamed. The Dwarf King then muttered, “Good work.”  
  
With that, Thorin hurriedly sidestepped around Bilbo and marched rather agitatedly towards the path out, with many eyes watching him with interest (and in Legolas’ case, disdain). Balin rolled his eyes upward, muttering, “Mahal, give me strength.”  
  
Bofur did not meet anyone else’s eyes (not even Bifur who was trying to comfort him) as he morosely walked with the others, hoping Bilbo would not spot how heartbroken he was. Bilbo did not notice, although he remained standing, frozen in his place and watching Thorin walk away from him. Still, Bilbo touched his lips and felt a sense of reverence and soothing calm.  
  
“Come, we must hurry if we are to reach Laketown by sunset,” Tauriel said, interrupting his thoughts as she guided him by the shoulder.  
  
“Do you think King Thranduil will eventually forgive me?” Bilbo asked worriedly as he half-jogged, hoping not all was lost to make amends.  
  
Tauriel hesitated before she sidetracked with the statement, “Perhaps when my Lord’s hair and eyebrows grow back…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's strange. I should feel guilty of torturing Thorin like this...


	3. Thor is a Troll

“Oi, Legolas and Tauriel. May you both grant me a question?”  
  
“You already asked it, Dwarf,” snapped Legolas as he stood against the boat’s starboard bow, pressing his hips against the railing. Throughout the deck of Bard’s ship, the various members of the Company were milling about, grumbling or secretively whispering while keeping a beady eye on their bowman. Well, all except Bilbo and Thorin. The Hobbit was actually chatting amiably and warmly with Bard (who was handling the rudder at the transom), and like most people, the Man was easing his demeanor to Bilbo’s friendliness. In fact, Bard was smiling.  
  
Thorin however was not smiling. In fact, he appeared as if he was trying to channel every fiber of his willpower into his heated glare as he glowered at the bowman who was currently making the Hobbit giggle.  
  
Tauriel rolled her eyes as Kíli, Fíli, and Legolas began yet another round of sniping and insults.  
  
Was she cursed for all eternity to play peacemaker?  
  
She was a Captain of the Mirkwood Guards, not a glorified sitter.  
  
“What is your question, Prince Kíli?” she demanded loudly and rather impatiently over the current bickering, making her voice heard. The dark-haired Dwarf blinked before he then spoke up (with Legolas resentfully biting his tongue).  
  
“When Bilbo accidentally summoned the lightning in the King Tree-Shag-…er, I mean, King Thranduil’s throne room, King Thraunduil’s face suddenly showed a nasty scar that was not there previously.”  
  
There was no point denying it; in Thranduil’s tantrum and loss of composure, the facial deferment was available for everyone to see, both Dwarf and Elf. Many of the Mirkwood guards, who had never suspected of their King using illusory magic on his appearance, took the sight of the abomination with complete and utter horror.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“It looked like a rather terrible burn,” Kíli surmised a little hesitantly.  
  
“Your question, Dwarf?” demanded Tauriel, close to snapping.  
  
“Did he get that from a dragon?” Kíli then asked.  
  
There was an awkward silence with both Legolas and Tauriel staring at Kíli, blinking. Fíli winced and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. Of all the times for his brother to actually show intelligence…  
  
Legolas, thinking that Kíli was trying to find jest in such a past injury, then shot back angrily, “I cannot see why that should be any matter of yours, Dwarf! You find such a grievous handicap amusing?! If anything, this should justify Ada in refusing to help your quest and why he did not assist to fight Smaug when he attacked the Lonely Mountain decades ago! To ask my Father to put his life and well-being for your greedy lot and to face the demons of his past is far beyond selfish! It’s absolutely sickening how even Mithrandir takes your side over ours! At least your family made it our unscathed! At least your Uncle has no crippling injuries!”  
  
Fíli then spoke, his voice flat.  
  
“None on the outside.”  
  
There was another tense silence. Everyone else on the boat was staring uncomfortably at the scene, including Bilbo and Bard. Thorin, on the other hand, was still trying to set Bard on fire with his dirty looks.  
  
Legolas frowned and snorted, but he turned away and did not say anything else. Tauriel, however, blinked and seemed a bit uncertain.  
  
Still, it was not lost on anyone in the Company that afterwards, the she-Elf made an effort to be polite and even talked in a reserved but open demeanor to Ori, Óin, Bilbo, Fíli and Kíli throughout the trip.

* * *

“Do you take me for a fool?” the Master of Laketown drawled in a nauseous manner, leaving and slouching heavily on his throne like a disgusting sow. None of the Company and the Elves answered, considering the number of guards surrounding them in a pincer movement, pikes and crossbows armed and aimed directly at them.  
  
Bard, who was with them, tried to angrily protest, “My Lord, you do not know what you are doing! These are just - !”  
  
“Ordinary travelers from Ered Luin?” the corpulent Master drawled sarcastically as he disgustingly cleared his nose and sinuses, “I may be cowardly, lazy, and corrupt. I may be insensitive, greedy, and slothful. I may be opportunistic, disregard my fellow inhabitants, and even have no compunctions in selling what I can to the highest bidder. But I am neither dense nor an idiot.”  
  
“Shame, you could have fooled me…” muttered Nori in Khuzdul, earning an elbow in the side from Ori. The guards, though not understanding the strange dialect, easily guessed the intonation and exhibited an even further trigger-happy demeanor. The Master easily sipped wine from a golden goblet from the luscious feast spread out on the wooden table in front of his chair, his posture betraying none of his thoughts as he gave the order.  
  
“Thorin Oakenshield, descendant of King Thráin and King Thrór…have yourself and your companions drop their weapons.”  
  
Bard blinked. Though he could guess the reasons that the Dwarves (and Elves) were being less than truthful about their reasons for travel, this was certainly not one of them. And Bard was even more stunned that the Master of Laketown was able to hone in on their travelers so quickly.  
  
Then again, Bard surmised that it probably had something to do with the ever so smug look on Alfrid Lickspittle’s face (who continued to preen like a pleased, demented peacock).  
  
From the look on Thorin’s face, he looked as if he were ready to charge and fight, regardless of the guards. From the way their bodies were tense and on their respective toes, Dwalin, Kíli, Fíli, and Nori were in full agreement. Desperate to not have this end in bloodshed, Balin tried to reach out diplomatically.  
  
“Wait!” the white haired Dwarf appealed, “Surely we can come to an agreement! Merely just let us through Laketown, and you shall never have to see us in your fair city again! There is no need to risk anyone’s life!”  
  
“And let the suicidal lot of you enter the Lonely Mountain and risk waking up Smaug in the process?” the Master drawled.  
  
Balin and the others blinked, stunned. There was no point in trying to deny it at this rate. Immensely satisfied, the fat man picked a ripe apple from the repast and chewed slothfully.  
  
“My network managed to catch word of the Pale Orc named Azog who is in pursuit of the last living heirs of Durin, and how he was last reported to be hiding in Mirkwood Forest. You are accompanied by the Crown Prince and the Captain of the Guards from the Elvish realm itself. They would not escort you this far out of their kingdom for mere Dwarvish commoners, only someone important like royalty. Laketown is the only point between Mirkwood and the Lonely Mountain where a struggling band of refugees can hope to safely hide and find food and shelter. Everyone in the criminal underground can easily guess that Thorin Oakenshield hopes to liberate Erebor and retake the Lonely Mountain from the dragon who easily slumbers for the past sixty years. It is the most logical step. And lo and behold, a group of Dwarves travelling with Elves and trying to bribe their passage through the city so soon after Azog has sent missives to every bounty hunter in Middle Earth.”  
  
“I thought our envoys to Laketown reported the Master to be nothing more than a cowardly sloth and drunkard,” hissed Legolas at Tauriel in Sindarin.  
  
“Apparently, he obfuscates stupidity very well,” Tauriel murmured. The Laketown Master then drawled, his eyes gleaming.  
  
“And Azog and the group has promised severe consequences if anyone provides assistance in hiding Durin’s heirs. Yet by contrast, he has also offered a bounty for anyone who can bring him Thorin Oakenshield and his sorry troupe. A very sizeable bounty, I might add.”  
  
“All of which the poor will never see a single coin!” growled Bard, inflamed. Several of the guards upon hearing this had some looks of hesitant reservation on their faces; Bard was absolutely correct on that accusation, and many of their families were hungry and suffering.  
  
“We can pay you. We have gold too, an entire mountain of it,” Fíli tried to point out.  
  
“That’s only under the assumption that you can take the gold from the Lonely Mountain without angering or waking up Smaug, which I highly doubt. Not only would doing so bring great risk in having the dragon come and destroy Laketown in its rampage, but it is impossible that a ragtag group of vagabonds can overcome and kill a menace that wiped out King Thrór’s armies in less than a day. The fact that none of the other Dwarven clans and kingdoms have risen in your support shows that not even your kin think this is a successful endeavor. So forgive me if I do not wish to endanger my life and well-being on helping you on your quest or assisting you in your escape from Azog.”  
  
Legolas finally smirked as he drawled with a sneer at Thorin and the Dwarves, “See?”  
  
“New plan: we use Prince Legolas’ body as a shield from the incoming crossbow bolts…” grumbled Dwalin, giving the Mirkwood Prince an evil eye. Legolas’ response was just as snide.  
  
“I am quite sure the fat one named Bombur would make a far more effective meat-shield than I would. Although he is a bit too short for my liking.”  
  
Both Bifur and Bofur looked angry enough to throw Legolas through the roof while Bombur huffed, offended. The Master then repeated his command with more forceful malice.  
  
“I said to drop your weapons, Dwarves. Unless you are willing to risk some of your comrades being injured or dying from the crossbows my guards will fire upon the slightest provocation…”  
  
Helpless but now seeing that his kin were in danger, Thorin threw Orcrist down at the floor a few feet in front of him, and instantly, the other members of his Company followed suit, a clattering din of metal as the heap of blades, knives, and various weapons grew (though Fíli secretly still kept a couple of his daggers hidden underneath his tunic). The Master then turned a beady eye to Bard, Legolas, and Tauriel.  
  
“Bard, Elves. You three as well.”  
  
Legolas gave a disdainful glare to the Master as Bard threw his bow and quiver to the wooden ground in disgust. The Mirkwood Prince stated coldly, “Master of Laketown, you seem to be mistaken. I greatly assure you that my people and kin have absolutely no problems with your decision to kill any or all of the Dwarves…”  
  
Legolas then trailed off his self-righteous diatribe as Tauriel then tossed her bow, arrows, and twin short swords to the growing pile in front of the guards. The female Captain did her best to not look at the expression of betrayal on her Prince’s face or at the expression of grudging respect on Thorin’s face (and the smile from Kíli). She kept her gaze on the floor, not saying anything and her face blank.  
  
Alfrid then declared (or rather whined) in a nasally voice, “I believe the Master told you to drop your weapon.”  
  
Everyone stared at the Hobbit as Bilbo just stood there, easy-going and passive, the majestic hammer of Aulë still lashed to his belt. Bilbo then spoke in an innocent tone, bordering on being cheeky, “Oh dear, me! But I was simply following the Master’s command. He asked the Dwarves, Elves, and Bard to surrender their weapons. Yet I am neither a Dwarf, an Elf, or Bard…as any fool can see.”  
  
Quite a few of the Dwarves could detect the insult hidden beneath the declaration, and they smiled. Tauriel lifted one eyebrow in amusement, impressed at Bilbo’s wit. The overweight Master narrowed his eyes while Alfrid sputtered incoherently in offense.  
  
“Your kind has not been seen in these lands for many years,” the Master announced, “You are a Hobbit, one of the gentle Halflings of the Green Lands.”  
  
“I am half of Nothing,” Bilbo said, keeping his voice light (though he frowned at the insult).  
  
Alfrid smirked as he quipped, “Certainly not half. More like a quarter.”  
  
The servant let out a piggish series of high-pitched giggling at his joke, and indeed, quite a few of the guards chuckled cruelly. Red-faced and furious, Thorin was about to charge and tackle Alfrid before beating the Man to a bloody pulp for demeaning his Bilbo like that, and it was only due to Dwalin and Dori grabbing their King by the arms before he could carry out that desire.  
  
The Master narrowed his eyes before leaning forward on his wooden throne and spoke in the most condescending manner he could muster.  
  
“Let me make it clear so even a stupid Halfling such as yourself can easily comprehend its simplicity: Put. The. Hammer. Down.”  
  
It was then that Bilbo smiled.  
  
“If you insist,” Bilbo said as he solidly slammed the mighty relic on the wooden table in front of the Master…

* * *

To be fair, Bilbo only meant to break the dining table with the hammer.  
  
He did not mean to have the shockwave from the hammer split the entire house of the Master in half, down to the center, and cause the wooden mansion to sink into the waters below.  
  
“Must you ALWAYS destroy every home you come across?!” Legolas yelled at a chagrined Bilbo as the floorboards and support posts of the mansion gave away, causing the residents to find themselves knee-deep in murky water and rapidly descending.  
  
“OH SHUT UP!” came the unanimous response from Thorin’s Company.  
  
Though thankfully, every Dwarf, Elf, and Man managed to escape and swim out of the submerging dwelling (with their weapons), and the sight of what Bilbo’s hammer could do was more than enough to convince the cowardly Master to go to Erebor with Laketown’s aid and blessings (provided than monetary reparations were made for the said destruction and to keep his mouth shut from ratting them out to Azog).

* * *

“DIE THIEF!” roared Smaug as he triumphantly reared his head back and let loose a gigantic wave of dragon fire directly at Bilbo who was in front of Glóin and Bifur protectively, trying to shield them with the magical hammer gripped in both hands.  
  
“NO!” screamed Bofur, Bombur, and Óin in horror, unable to do anything but watch their kin perish in a horrific death. Tauriel and Legolas kept aiming their arrows at Smaug’s weak spot, hoping to kill the dragon before he could attack, but their wooden shafts were too weak to puncture through the tough hide (even with the missing scale). As a result, the arrows simply bounced off. Thorin felt his heart shatter, the clench in his heart and chest threatening to choke him as he yelled.  
  
“BILBO! ”  
  
To their credit, both Bifur and Glóin managed to bravely face the fire with their spear and axe ready, like true warriors. Bilbo however was not willing to let any of the Company perish as he held out the hammer right in front, and to Smaug and the Company’s amazement, the stream of flame bypassed them, split apart and diverted thanks to the magic shielding them.  
  
In fact, the hammer of Aulë was so potent in its protection that Bifur and Glóin weren’t even singed, the two burly Dwarves not even the least bit hot as they stared, dumbfounded at the fire encircling all around them in a wide berth. For a minute, the dragon continued in his assault, but to everyone’s shock and joy, the fire did not touch any of the three victims.  
  
Smaug’s eyes actually widened in shock as the red-hot dragon-fire subsided.  
  
“Impossible…” the wyrm wheezed.  
  
Seizing a chance (and not really sure what in the name of Yavanna he was thinking), Bilbo reared back and flung the hammer towards Smaug’s head with all of his strength. The weapon, with its metal head gleaming like the brightest star, flew swift and sure in a straight line towards Smaug.  
  
The dragon jerked his neck to the right, taken aback at how speedily the Hobbit’s weapon came close to hitting him and narrowly missing his skull by a couple of mere feet before the hammer blitzed past safely. The drake smiled maliciously, now seeing that the wide-eyed and fatigued Hobbit was weaponless.  
  
“You missed, Luck-Wearer,” sneered Smaug. With his attention focused on Bilbo, he did not see the hammer suddenly veering around and homing directly to the back of Smaug’s head…

* * *

“…and that is how the crater to the Treasury Room came to be,” finished Ori, the elderly Dwarf pointing with a feeble, withered hand at the gigantic, cracked indentation in the ground, a cleared area of gray rock amid the piles and piles of gold and glittering jewels. All the little Dwarflings and human children from Dale gasped and made cooing noises of amazement and awe as their pondered the scribe’s tale.  
  
“The hammer did that, Elder Ori? And with one blow?” one child asked.  
  
“I find it amazing that they still cannot clean the bloodstains out after all these years…”  
  
“That hammer must have been truly a weapon of the Gods!”  
  
“My goodness! Who would have imagined a dragon’s head slamming into the ground could cause this much damage? And look, I can see the wyrm’s teeth are still embedded in the ground!”  
  
“Wait, is this way every drawing of Smaug after his slaying shows him having that wide-eyed, stupefied look of surprise on his face?” the young Dwari asked, sporting a Mohawk exactly like his other ancestor did in his youth. Ori kissed his great-grandson on the head as he chuckled.  
  
“Smaug never saw it coming,” Ori stated with a smile.  
  
“Elder Ori, is the rumor true that King Thorin was so entranced by the Hobbit’s bravery and courage that he immediately ravished him on top of the wyrm’s corpse afterwards?” asked a young girl.  
  
“I can neither confirm nor deny,” the wrinkled Dwarf said smoothly with practice before he sidetracked with, “Come children, it is time for elevenses. And I can smell chips and toasted cheese in the air…”

* * *

“YOU! YOU MISERABLE HOBBIT! YOU UNDERSIZED BURGLAR!”  
  
Needless to say, the entire debacle with the Arkenstone could and did take a turn for the worse. With Bilbo being the main target as Thorin angrily grasped Bilbo by the throat, intent on breaking his neck.  
  
“Bilbo!” cried out Bofur as he tried to intervene, rushing forward with his mattock, but loyal to Thorin as always, Dwalin expertly and smoothly tripped the miner with a simple swat with the handle of Keeper at his shins. As Bofur sprawled out on the ground, Bifur and Nori immediately tackled Bofur and pinned him down. Bifur was shaking his head frantically with a rare look of fear while Nori was more direct.  
  
“Don’t,” Nori hissed urgently, “He’ll kill you both, you idiot!”  
  
Bofur would not give in, struggling under the heavy weight pinning him down as he bellowed, “THORIN, STOP!”  
  
Dwalin merely muffled Bofur by clamping one hand over the miner’s mouth. Bofur was unable to do anything but whimper in horror as a red-faced Thorin, gripping and strangling Bilbo by the Hobbit’s throat with both hands, then dangled the Burglar over the top of the wall of the parapets. Ori, Fíli and Kíli tried to rush forward, pleading, but one look from the wrathful and apoplectic Thorin made them freeze in their tracks.  
  
Meanwhile, far below and standing next to an emotionless Thranduil and a horrified Bard upon the ground, Legolas had notched an arrow and was aiming directly at Thorin’s head. Tauriel was beside herself, aghast.  
  
“Your Highness, stop. You shall endanger both Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins,” she whispered, placing a gentle yet firm hand on her Prince’s arm.  
  
“I can make the shot,” murmured Legolas, not feeling the least bit regretful. And if the Hobbit did die in the fall, then no one would be able to wield Aulë’s hammer and pose a future threat…  
  
“Do not! Please!” hissed Tauriel urgently, her hand now being more forceful. Legolas’ eyes narrowed in astonished irritation and betrayal.  
  
“You are not my superior, Captain,” Legolas said, coldly stressing the last word.  
  
“And they are not our enemies,” Tauriel said finally, actually stepping in front of the path of Legolas’ arrow, her voice cold and angry.  
  
Legolas’ eyebrows crinkled in shock.  
  
After several seconds of the standoff, Legolas lowered his bow, but his blue eyes were absolutely arctic.  
  
“It appears the Hobbit is not the only traitor in this group,” the Mirkwood Prince intoned, “Consider this fair and just reason to revoke your standing and position as Captain of the Guards. You shall be demoted after this is all over.”  
  
Legolas wasn’t sure why he wanted Tauriel to hurt as much as he; Legolas certainly didn’t gain any satisfaction from that statement.  
  
To her credit, Tauriel held her head high and her face calm.  
  
Meanwhile, at Gandalf’s insistence to release the Burglar and completely humiliated, Thorin flung Bilbo back to safety on the firm ground of the battlement’s balcony, roughly causing the Hobbit to land hard on his side and shoulder. Thorin’s eyes were wide and bloodshot, spittle building and leaking at one corner of his mouth. He was so incensed, so thoroughly taken with boiling fury that everyone (both above and down below) could hear his bellow at the meek Bilbo Baggins.  
  
“OUT OF MY SIGHT, YOU TRAITOR! YOU DESCENDANT OF RATS! YOU ARE BANISHED, NO LONGER A TRUSTED FRIEND OF DURIN’S FOLK OR OF EREBOR! GET DOWN TO YOUR FRIENDS OR I WILL SLIT YOUR DECEITFUL THROAT BEFORE HURLING YOU TO THE DAMNED WIZARD MYSELF! AND WORRY NOT ABOUT THE HAMMER OF MAHAL! IT WILL REMAIN HERE, A TESTAMENT AND PUNISHMENT FOR SOMEONE WHO FORESAKES THE BLESSING OF OUR CREATOR TO WILLINGLY STAB ME IN THE BACK! AND IF YOU DARE SUMMON IT TO YOUR HANDS ONCE AGAIN, I SHALL LEAD ALL THE DWARVES BACK TO THE SHIRE AND MASSACRE EACH AND EVERY DAMNED HOBBIT AND BURN THE ENTIRE VILLAGE TO THE GROUND!”  
  
Bilbo whimpered, wide eyed along with the rest of the Company, horrified that Thorin so easily promised genocide as retaliation. Thorin, now pleased that he finally nettled Bilbo, twisted the proverbial knife even further as he sneered.  
  
The Dwarf King growled, “That is right. Cry, you disgusting Halfling. Cry and realize this is only a fraction of the agony and despair you caused me with your lies and your betrayal. We trusted you. I trusted you! I was finally convinced that Mahal sent you to me as a blessing, as a friend, as a…you cowardly bastard. So I will take Mahal’s hammer as justice and recompense for how you surrendered my birthright. I will take the godly relic so it will no longer be shamed or stained by the misdeeds of a sinful and blasphemous runt born from a Hobbit whore. I may not use the hammer, but I will make sure you never will either or I will make you watch as I slay each and every one of your kinfolk and friends back in your precious, naïve Shire. And I shall laugh doing so. Are you satisfied, now, you son of an Orc?! Are you pleased with yourself, you accident of a Troll?! How does it feel to know that you hurt me in ways that not even Azog has done before?! How does it feel to know that you have damned us all and made a mockery of my legacy, of my life, of my family?! How does it feel to know that you broke my heart and lost the precious weapon of the Valar that you have treasured so much like I have treasured my precious Arkenstone?! HOW DOES IT FEEL TO KNOW YOU HAVE LOST THE ONE THING YOU CARE ABOUT?!”  
  
Thorin was so lost in his anger that he did not realize that his hands were digging painfully into Bilbo’s shoulders, almost breaking the bone. He did not realize that he slammed Bilbo against the wall and cornered the Hobbit, almost crushing him against the wall.  
  
Bilbo simply looked broken, his cheeks were glistening with tear tracks to match the angry ones dripping into Thorin’s beard.  
  
“…I never cared about the hammer,” Bilbo choked softly.  
  
With that, he numbly left the parapets, let down on a bucket attached to a rope.  
  
Thorin managed to convince himself that the coiled, tight feeling of ice stabbing in his heart and stomach was due to the rage.  
  
Bifur, Dwalin, and Nori released their hold, and Bofur buried his face in his hands and wept.

* * *

“Are you crying, Uncle?”  
  
“I am not crying…” growled Thorin from his seat overlooking the treasury. Funny how the gold and jewels sparkling in the torchlight was not as serene and comforting as before…  
  
There was a tense silence before Dwalin asked with small bit of cheek.  
  
“Are you sulking?”  
  
“…yes.”

* * *

“If you want to hurt Uncle, you go through us first!” Kíli managed to yell loudly enough for himself to be heard over the sounds of screaming, weapons clashing, and brawling as the Battle of the Five Armies raged all around them in absolute chaos.  
  
I will not throttle Kíli if he survives this, I will not throttle Kíli if he survives this, I will not throttle Kíli if he survives this…  
  
Instead of voicing those thoughts in his head, Thorin managed to weakly rasp with the blood dribbling out of his mouth, “No…Kíli…”  
  
Injured and bleeding from a series of deep and horrific stab wounds in his side and chest, Thorin wearily and helplessly looked on as both of his nephews, Kíli and Fíli, the loyal wolf and lion of the Durin family, placed themselves between their downed Uncle and the Pale Orc with swords drawn.  
  
Grinning a demented smile that showed all his yellow teeth, Azog was about to charge when he suddenly screeched in an unholy timbre as his left knee suddenly collapsed, slashed by a sharp sword from behind. Stumbling, the Orc leader snarled as he whirled and wildly looked around his position, but he could not see any sort of assailant anywhere except the three Dwarves in front.  
  
Azog’s eyes then widened in surprised outrage as Bilbo materialized out of thin air, standing tall and placing himself protectively in front of Kíli, Fíli, and Thorin. Thorin felt his breath catch in his throat, ashamed and astounded that Bilbo was fighting for him, fighting for his nephews.  
  
He came back.  
  
“Auntie Bilbo!” panted Fíli, exhausted but damn if the sight of his friend did not give the Dwarf Prince a second wind, a feeling of hope that everything would turn out all right. Bilbo held out an arm to his left, as if trying to block and prevent Fíli from moving forward.  
  
“Stay behind me! Both of you!” Bilbo commanded sternly before he turned to Azog who rose back on his feet after Bilbo’s attack with Sting.  
  
“You shall not pass,” Bilbo declared in a strong voice.  
  
It was strange how the gentle Hobbit’s baritone voice could be heard amid the entire fracas of the warzone.  
  
In the back of his mind, Azog should have known that something was wrong and suspicious about the Hobbit suddenly materializing within his sights. Azog should have guessed that if the Halfling was challenging him without any fear, then there had to be a reason for it. Azog should have remembered one important rule about warfare: never underestimate your enemy.  
  
Yet then again, being so close to fully exterminating Thorin and his bloodline and fully satisfying his revenge was too tempting to pass up and abandon, especially since he would in no way in all of Mordor and back retreat from a three-foot tall Gentle-Hobbit who was currently weaponless and without that damned magical hammer. The urge for vengeance mixed with bloodlust made the Pale Orc willing to shed all caution and hesitation to the winds.  
  
Azog shifted his feet, his clawed hand tightening on his mace…right as there was a commotion to the left that made Thorin turn his head to see the miraculous sight of surprised Orcs and Goblins screaming in pain as they were unceremoniously flung about and tossed in the air as the hammer of Aulë. It was as if a charging Oliphant was rampaging its way through, smashing, crushing, and throwing foes left and right. The beautiful hammer of Mahal, shining like a star and hearing Bilbo’s plea and distress, flew out of the Lonely Mountain and made a straight beeline towards their position.  
  
Bard the Bowman, who was busily firing arrows at a battalion of Goblins, actually stopped and stared as the magical talisman of Aulë just zoomed past right in front of him (and literally brained an Orc in its wake). His jaw dropped in shock.  
  
“Did…” Bard asked hesitantly as he pondered if he rather hallucinated the whole thing, “Did I just see Bilbo’s hammer - ?”  
  
“YES!” snapped back Dwalin and Bombur as they combined their axes and maces to decapitate and bludgeon three Goblins to death, clearly not in the mood to explain it to the Laketown soldier.  
  
Bilbo never wavered, never flinched, and with a soft noise, the handle of the hammer of Mahal rested in his palm, home at last.  
  
Azog roared as he charged, bringing down his sword directly towards Bilbo’s head, just as the Hobbit swung his hammer upwards with all of his might…

* * *

Two days had passed after the Battle of the Five Armies before the blackened and charred corpse of Azog plummeted from the sky back to Middle Earth, falling as swiftly and ablaze like a shooting star.  
  
Right into the middle of Mirkwood.  
  
Directly into Thranduil’s royal throne room.  
  
Or, to be more exact, what is now known as Thranduil’s massive, smoking crater.  
  
To this day, Thranduil vehemently insists that Bilbo Baggins did that on purpose.  
  
Bilbo just smiles sheepishly at the accusation.  
  
To be fair, Bilbo didn’t mean to hit Azog hard enough to send the Orc leader that high into the sky.

* * *

“It is better this way. Bilbo shall be fine,” Balin states rather lightly, almost matter-of-fact.  
  
Thorin does not answer, morosely sitting on the furs of his cot and staring blankly at nothing in particular. One would think that winning the Battle of the Five Armies and finally making a tentative peace and alliance between the Men and Elves of Laketown and Mirkwood would be cause for celebration.  
  
Balin then continues, “No apology can ever be sincere. You did threaten his life, threaten his home and his fellow Hobbits, and I’m sure that he no longer wishes to stay with you after all that. After all, it’s not as if you need to apologize. You were under the dragon-sickness, and Bilbo understands this better than most. Even though it is likely Bilbo still loves you, it is not as if you told him you felt the same way in return. So perhaps in a way, it is beneficial to leave things unsaid with no possible way to change or make amends to them. He’ll be fine.”  
  
Thorin just remained as still as a statue, his eyes blank and his mouth  
  
“Despite his minor injuries, Bilbo is apparently well enough to return to the Shire. All right, certainly he’s experiencing heartbreak. He blames himself for the betrayal of the Arkenstone and feels that you would never forgive him, despite staying with you while you were being treated for your wounds in the tents. He may have difficulty moving on if Hobbits have Ones like Dwarves and may live a lonely and miserable life, filled with sadness and depression and all by himself without any loved ones in Bag End. But again, it is for the best. You have Erebor to run, and you cannot possibly manage it if there are distractions, even though many in the Company would be willing to assist you, even if you did not ask us. Oh, but do not worry: Bofur will be going with Bilbo to ensure that he returns to Bag-End safely. And Bard and Thranduil also wish to accompany Bilbo as well as many other well-wishers who have sworn respect and loyalty to the ‘Thunder-Hammer’, as Bilbo is now known as. Although to be fair, being able to strike and flatten over a hundred Goblins with a single blow has even earned the admiration of the Elves, many of whom are going as far as to name Bilbo Baggins, ‘Elf-Friend’. So you really have no cause for concern: Bilbo will be well looked after and not be alone on his travels back. He’ll be fine.”  
  
Mahal help Balin if that doesn’t get a response…  
  
There is silence before Thorin then releases a grave sigh and croaks out a response.  
  
“Balin?”  
  
The white-haired Dwarf’s face lit up with hope and anticipation.  
  
“Thank you…for being honest to remind me why Bilbo is better off without me.”  
  
The Dwarf advisor let out a very aggravated moan as he rubbed his eyes with gritted teeth.  
  
Apparently, subtlety doesn’t work on the stupid.  
  
Suddenly, there was an abrupt commotion, a strange yet alien noise rumbling in the sky that sounded not at all like thunder, shaking the ground a bit. Dain, Lord of the Iron Hills, immediately poked in head in the healing tent, and Balin was wary and surprised at the look of awe and trepidation on the Dwarf’s face. A first time, if ever.  
  
“Come quick! There’s something you should see!” Dain gasped, breathless. Alarmed, Thorin reached for Orcrist as Balin briskly responded, like any emergency.  
  
“Is it the Orcs? Are we under attack?!” Balin asked as he helped Thorin limp a bit out as fast as they could. Dain looked unsure before he replied a bit hesitantly.  
  
“No, but…”  
  
Balin, Thorin, and Dain then came to the middle of the battle camps, where an enormous crowd of Dwarves, Elves, and Men alongside Thorin’s Company, Beorn the Shapeshifter, Gandalf the Grey and Radagast the Brown have gathered around in a circle, staring with overwhelming shock, and fear, upsetting murmurs and yelling all around. Many had their weapons out and aimed at the alien occurrence in the center of the throng of spectators.  
  
It was then that Balin and Thorin saw what was so astonishing.  
  
Directly from the skies above, cutting through the clouds and sun, was a wide pillar of light, a column pealing and rolling and echoing a rumbling noise that could be heard and felt throughout the entire warzone. It was like a churning waterfall, violently twisting and turning and pressing against the dirt ground and violently raising clouds of dirt and dust. But what was most puzzling and breathtaking was the column itself.  
  
It was a gigantic rainbow of the purest color and beauty, terrible, powerful, and yet so entrancing and full of a deep magic.  
  
Bifur was so disturbed and staggered by this strange development that he actually spoke in strange grunts and broken Khuzdul which only Bofur and Bombur could interpret as, “ _This is strange!_ ”  
  
“Is it the Necromancer?” Tauriel asked, turning her question to Radagast.  
  
“…I’m quite sure the Necromancer would not be associated with a rainbow,” the brown wizard replied, still a bit confused.  
  
“What a beautiful rainbow!” breathed Tilda, Bard’s youngest daughter, her eyes shining in delight. Gandalf however seemed not the least bit taken aback by this strange development as he addressed the Elvish King, Thranduil.  
  
“I say, Thranduil, King of Greenwood. Have you gotten a haircut?”  
  
The Elf King’s voice was cold enough to make even an Orc pause in caution.  
  
“Mithrandir, if you dare utter a single laugh, I shall have my guards bury you head-first into a pile of elk dung.”  
  
Much to Thranduil’s irritation, Gandalf didn’t laugh but he smiled in an aggravating manner.  
  
Then as suddenly as it occurred, the rainbow stopped and disappeared in a blink of an eye.  
  
Everyone just stared at the figure that emerged from the pillar of light, squatting in a circle of scorched dirt.  
  
He was tall, wearing metal armor and gauntlets and leg-guards made of a metal that none of the Dwarves could identify. All of the Dwarves were amazed at how brightly the attire shone and glittered like diamonds under the sunlight. There was a red cape draped over his muscular shoulders, fluttering majestically in the wind which stood out against the dark-brown deer-skin leggings and tough, black boots that were lined with metal strips at the seams. From the clothing and the way the stranger was heavily built and how he carried himself, it was not a difficult guess that assume that the strange Man was a fighter, a seasoned warrior.  
  
Underneath the metallic helmet with wings sticking out on either side was the face of a Man with long, blond flowing hair that was a deeper and richer yellow than Legolas’ and a short, neatly-trimmed beard of the same hue. The face was wide, craggy, battle-hardened like any seasonal warrior and fighter, but what the crowd first noticed in the Man’s demeanor was the eyes, a vivid azure of blue, like the sea.  
  
“Hold!” Gandalf commanded with his magic, causing even the stoic Elves to look at the wizard in surprise, “Stay your weapons! He is not an enemy!”  
  
They complied, though not without some reluctance. Gandalf then took several steps forward and called out to the stranger.  
  
“Welcome, and well met, Thor, son of Odin!”  
  
The stranger’s face lit up with giddy happiness and recognition.  
  
“Incánus!” bellowed Thor happily, like an over-excited child, “Well met!”  
  
Thor’s face then fell a bit before showing hopeful wonder.  
  
“Is it here?!”  
  
“Bilbo, step forward. Thor will not hurt you…” prompted Gandalf softly, prodding the Burglar with his staff a bit. Gulping and suddenly uncomfortable with all eyes watching him, Bilbo nervously strode forward with the magical hammer of Aulë in his hands. Thor’s eyes lit up with relief and joy.  
  
“Mjolnir!” he commanded, holding his hand out. Upon the summon, the godly talisman flew out of Bilbo’s hands and into Thor’s, causing the warrior to let loose a roar of bombastic and rapturous jubilation. Thor raised the hammer high above his head, and at once, thunder boomed across the clear sky and streaks of electricity and lightning rained down and struck the metal head of the hammer in a grand display of fireworks.  
  
“WE ARE NOW COMPLETE!” Thor yelled, “WE ARE NOW ONE!”  
  
Sigrid, daughter of Bard, gasped as she asked Gandalf, “Gandalf…is this handsome stranger Aulë himself?!”  
  
Óin snorted with derision, “Do not insult us, lass. This fake is not Mahal.”  
  
Gandalf chuckled before he declared in a strong voice, loud enough for everyone to hear as the words reverberated through their bones and flesh with the wizard’s magic and aura, “Everyone, may I present to you: Prince Thor, son of Odin Allfather, a God and a member of a group that resides from the stars. He is an Asgardian, though no, he is not one of the Valar. And it is his hammer, Mjolnir, an ancient weapon passed down his royal lineage from generation to generation that he had sought upon its disappearance. The hammer, Mjolnir, is the same one our dear Bilbo Baggins had been graced with its might and magic for the Battle of the Five Armies. And now, it has been found to its rightful and original wielder.”  
  
“ _That hammer isn’t Mahal’s?!_ ” signed Bifur in surprise.  
  
“It belongs to this Thor?! And has a name?!” Nori blurted out.  
  
“Meh-Ho-…how does it go again?” Kíli asked, his face twisted in confusion.  
  
“I think he pronounced it ‘Myeh-Myeh’,” offered Dori, tilting his head.  
  
“Mjolnir?” Bilbo repeated.  
  
“The name of my hammer, my weapon. The name of the weapon you proudly bear!” Thor bellowed with joy and triumph. The lightning and thunder finally died down and subsided before Thor lowered his arm and looked at the Hobbit with an expression akin to wonder.  
  
“And yet you carried Mjolnir?! It found you worthy to wield and carry its mark and magical honor and province?!”  
  
“Um…yes?” Bilbo squeaked, feeling like a mouse being addressed by a gigantic Oliphant.  
  
Thor cheered, declaring at the top of his lungs, “You have kept my weapon safe and were chosen worthy to wield its might and power! You have seen to it to hold yourself responsible to ensure that this weapon would never be used by the dark and cowardly and have watched over my hammer zealously like a mother with her babe! You have brought honor and graced the hammer with blessings of the most valiant warrior! Tell me: how can I ever thank you for your steadfast reliability and compassion?!”  
  
Bilbo winced at the volume; it was as if this Thor Odinson had absolutely no idea of using an indoor voice.  
  
Gandalf then yelled loudly, “Thor Odinson! Use your quieter voice! I know you are happy to be reunited with Mjolnir, but Hobbits have sensitive ears!”  
  
Thor blinked before he sheepishly winced and shrugged, like a chastised teenager before he then knelt down in front of a rather intimidated Bilbo, taking off his helmet, letting his hair loose and allowing the Hobbit to see his face and countenance in full.  
  
Thor was so handsome.  
  
And in the background, given the number of quick gasps and intakes of breath by the female members of the audience, it seemed Bilbo was not the only one who thought so.  
  
In the background, Glóin exploded at Gandalf, thoroughly outraged, “Blasted wizard! Why did you not tell us that you knew who the hammer of Mahal belonged to? And do not dare give us a clichéd answer of how we didn’t ask you!”  
  
“Shame, Master Glóin. Because that was to be my response,” Gandalf returned flippantly.  
  
A good number of the Company glared Gandalf before Dwalin called out menacingly, “King Thranduil, by any chance, do you happen to have a pile of elk dung on hand?”  
  
Thor then spoke with a softer tone of voice, “My apologies for scaring you like that earlier. I beg for your forgiveness. But please, what is your name? I am Prince Thor, son of Odin Allfather and Frigga, Prince of Asgard.”  
  
Bilbo nervously smiled as he bowed with respect and said, “My name is Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo and Belladonna Baggins, of Bag End.”  
  
“Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, tell me: how can I ever repay you?”  
  
“Oh! I could never ask for thanks! I merely did the right thing! And of course, it should be I to thank you. The hammer…Mjolnir, is it? Mjolnir helped save my life and the lives of my friends and Thor-…well, there is nothing you can do. But I appreciate that you have found your lost hammer and that you are now happy to have something back that is dear to you.”  
  
Bilbo felt his eyes sting a bit at the lapse of Thorin’s name and he glanced down, but Thor saw the shimmer in Bilbo’s eyes regardless.  
  
Thor seemed troubled. He appeared as if he wanted to do nothing else but make the Hobbit smile, so he asked, tilting his head to the side in confusion as he asked, puzzled, “Such a strange and humble request, Bilbo of Bag End. Surely there is something I can reward or assist you with.”  
  
Bilbo felt his heart clench as he said sadly shook his head.  
  
Thor gave a grave and concerned look before he glanced up and looked at the audience staring at him and Bilbo, not daring to say a word. Yet then, out of the blue, Thor’s gaze then rested on a twitching and horrified Thorin Oakenshield, wearing an expression of regret, pain…and deep longing.  
  
An expression Thor himself was familiar with.  
  
Thor then smirked.  
  
“Perhaps…” and with that, Thor gently massaged Bilbo’s hands in his, giant but so warm and soothing and with the lightest of touches that made Bilbo shiver, “I can reward you in other ways. Incánus has told me a bit about the gentle race of Hobbits when I was young, and how some crave for new sights and sounds beyond their villages. Would you like to see my home, my world, my Kingdom which resides in the stars? Just for a little while? I would welcome you into the royal family as an esteemed guest of the highest order and honor.”  
  
“What?” asked Bilbo, dumbstruck before he started babbling, “Oh my, oh dear me! Oh my, oh my, oh my goodness! That…oh dear!”  
  
“It would just be for a little while,” Thor highlighted as he brushed a gentle kiss to Bilbo’s knuckles in an effort to soothe the Hobbit, “You would only be gone from this realm, from your world, for about a fortnight, enough time for me to show you my gratitude and properly have my Father and his court honor you for you reliability and strength of heart for being one chosen by Mjolnir. At the very least, it would do me much good to show you my gratitude by celebrating. And perhaps…well, Incánus had told me a little about Middle Earth. After our merriment, I would be honored if I could return you back to your Shire where you could give me a personal tour of your green fields of Hobbiton. I would love to have a chance to see your home as well as the lands that make up your world. If you would be willing to be my personal guide.”  
  
Bilbo could not help it, he was lost in the gaze of Thor’s eyes, so uncharacteristically soft and kind for a powerful fighter, and now that he was speaking at a normal volume, Thor’s voice was deep and rough, but strangely charming.  
  
“Um…Óin, I daresay you might want to look over Thorin again before he bursts. I can see the vein sticking out of his forehead,” commented Bombur as he edged a bit closer to his King, wondering if he was going to have to intervene.  
  
The Dwarf healer gave Bombur a look before saying flatly, “Thorin is far beyond any help at this point.”  
  
Meanwhile, Bilbo could not help but be intrigued (as well as the rest of the females in the crowds).  
  
“Tell me about your world,” Bilbo asked before his brain could even comprehend what his mouth had just uttered. Bilbo blushed at his forwardness, but Thor was starting to become easily fascinated of the little Gentle-Hobbit.  
  
“My home is far different from your world here on Middle Earth, Bilbo Baggins,” Thor said, his voice gentle and soft, but so rich and deep, “It is known as the ‘Sea of Space’, a flat mass of land with waters that drift and empty into nothingness while floating amongst the stars and suns. We have buildings of stone, metal, and great beauty that reaches the clouds, towers that were built and designed by our most revered artists and architects, and the Royal Palace is the most exquisite of them all, open to the elements and the sun, garbed with gold, precious metals, the finest silk, and every comfort you could ever want and imagine. Our walkways are wide and open, leading to many of our markets, our city squares where the ale and entertainment runs plentiful, where the smells of perfumes and spices mingle with the many smells of rich earth, various forests, and the salt air of the open sea. There is day where the sun is warm, pleasant and mixed with the fresh breeze of our oceans so it is not unbearably hot. There is night where it is refreshingly cold, but there is no snow, clear skies that show a grand blanket of stars, galaxies, and nebulas so bright that the darkness is peppered with such enchanted, multicolored lights and sights that it would make the fireflies weep with jealousy. And of course, there is the Bifrost, a bridge of rainbows that allows us to travel from realm to realm along with a plethora of doorways that takes us to the Nine Worlds surrounding Asgard, like a honeycomb.”  
  
Bilbo’s eyes grew wider and wider as Thor described his home so vividly and wonderfully, it was as if he was there, walking with Thor hand in hand amongst the strange world.  
  
Apparently, so was the rest of the audience, falling so quiet one could hear a thrush chirp in the background as they hung on to Thor’s every word, a deep yearning of exploration growing in their hearts. One female Elf started fanning herself, her face hot and flushed.  
  
Thorin actually started to froth at one corner of his mouth, his throat making deep yet incoherent guttural squeaks like a wounded animal.  
  
Thor continued, his smile causing a slight fluttering in Bilbo’s heart, “I shall bring you before my father and mother, and both of them would gladly give you the highest praises and honors before the court. In fact, I would like you to be welcomed as part of the royal family for being chosen by Mjolnir. You would be renowned in the halls of our ancestors and famous soldiers in the past, and I shall introduce you to Sif and the Warriors Three, and I know they would love you as much as I am beginning to. Lady Sif is my sister-at-arms, a fellow woman who can wield her double-swords as proficiently as her tongue, never failing to show cold steel of a blade or the sharpness of her sarcastic honesty. There is also Fandral the Daring, golden-haired with a golden heart and tongue that could charm the dew off grass and the bitterness off an old maid. Smooth and with an extensive vocabulary of honey, he shall help have legions of females throwing themselves at you, Bilbo Baggins, although it is no shame if you also prefer the company of males. I shall personally help you in that endeavor, and I would love to see the jealous look on Fandral’s face. Oh, and there is Hogun the Grim, a serious yet one of the most loyal fighters you can ever meet. Logical, observant, and solemn, he has the sort of aura that when he does actually speak, you listen and take heed to his words. But he has a soft fondness for children, and I am sure he would desire to carry you on his shoulders. And of course, there is Volstagg the Voluminous, a large yet magnificence warrior with flowing red hair and a beard to match. If you stand next to him in battle, you shall be well protected for few can match his fury. If you stand next to him in the tavern, he shall laugh and treat you to a tankard of Asgardian ale while he challenges you to an eating contest enough to feed a Frost Giant!”  
  
The blood roared in Thorin’s ears, drowning out all other noises from the crowd all around him as his vision narrowed to the blond harlot kneeling in front of Bilbo.  
  
At the mention of dinner, Bilbo then had the misfortune to have his stomach growl loudly, causing the Hobbit to blush.  
  
“I’m sorry,” stammered Bilbo, embarrassed, but Thor’s eyes lit up once again.  
  
“No! Do not apologize. If you come back with me to Asgard, then I shall have the royal cooks create a feast that has never been seen before! Fish and fare of the seas served with sumptuous herbs. Fruits and greens that burst with flavor and make your tongue sing upon contact. Wild game birds smothered with secret sauces that would make grown men kill for. We will feast for seven days and seven nights in celebration with dancing and music and much laughter and stories. There shall be breads and pastries, sweet and savory, so soft and rich with butter and as light as clouds and snowflakes. There shall be shrimp swimming in butter or fried to a crisp, smoked salmon with lemon, thick chowders bursting with shellfish and a creamy sauce so thick it would break your ribs. Tubers cooked in various manners, mushrooms swimming in dark, luscious gravy placed side by side with various birds, hens, and geese roasted on spits and crackling with fat and dumplings. The main dish would be an entire roasted boar made specially in your honor, Bilbo, seasoned with honey and cooked to absolute perfection that skin would be as hard as steel and yet would disintegrate and vanish the minute you place it on your tongue and the meat so juicy and sweet, it would dribble down your chin upon first bite. And of course, ale, spiced wines, and enough mead to fill a lake. And you, you Bilbo Baggins, will sit as the esteemed guest of honor next to my father, wearing the finest silk and fabric and given a crown of flowers made of white gold, tungsten, and silver to contrast with your hair.”  
  
Bilbo was so taken by Thor’s descriptions he forgot to breathe.  
  
Bombur felt his own mouth salivate as he murmured, “I’m hungry too.”  
  
One of the Elves could not help but drawl sarcastically at the fat Dwarf, sneering, “Really? My goodness, not even Eru would have been able to guess that notion!”  
  
Thorin’s face was a dangerous mixture of purple and red as his fingers were shaking for violence, his teeth grinding against each other painfully. In fact, Óin has to wonder if Thorin wasn’t going to burst into flames from how flushed the Dwarf King’s face had become.  
  
“You…you like flowers?” Bilbo asked, amazed. To have such a big and powerful warrior and fighter be romantic enough to enjoy a simple thing such as flowers just made the hobbit even more entranced. Thor smiled, chuckling.  
  
“Flowers are important in our culture, and the Asgardians can even create blossoms to be custom made for special occasions to symbolize important people and events in our lives. For your bravery and to honor one of the Chosen of Mjolnir, if you come with me, I shall have my people and scientists create a special flower in your namesake. And yes, before you ask, as Gods, it is within our power to create life as such. It shall be named the Bilbo Blossom, and I shall order it to be crafted to be in your image and likeness. Short stemmed with leaves as tender and soft as a mother’s love, the head comprised of a giant orb of miniature bells-shaped petals with the color of hazel to match your eyes and carpels of gold to match your golden hair. Each bit shall be overflowing with nectar, to never age or wilt, and to have a scent of perfume that is as sweet as sugar and as refreshing as the cold winds of the seas!”  
  
There was a stunned silence as Thor finished, his voice ringing throughout the campgrounds.  
  
“Oh…that sounds beautiful” was all a flustered Bilbo could say in awe, feeling incredibly touched.  
  
All right, even Bilbo had to admit that having an exotic species of a flower be specifically created and named after you was a little romantic. And it just hit him how Thor’s hair gave off the faintest odors of rowan wood and juniper, the fragrance reminding him of the Shire. Bilbo had a small urge to gently run his fingers through Thor’s silken tresses of sunlight to ease his homesickness.  
  
Thorin’s bulging and bloodshot eye twitched irregularly as for some odd reason, his left arm went surprisingly numb.  
  


The few females in the audience hearing Thor’s proclamations were practically swooning.

“Oh my…” Tauriel murmured, the faintest blush of rose to her cheeks (much to Kíli and Legolas’ irritation).

“Oh my!” Sigrid sighed, her hands to her face in giddiness.

“Oh my,” Ori admitted to himself with a whisper. Unfortunately, both Dori and Dwalin heard him.

“ORI!” they simultaneously snapped with indignation, causing the Dwarf scribe to duck his head in embarrassment.

“Over my dead body, Ori!” snapped the older Dwarf brother, hands on his hips.

“Over his dead body,” emphasized Dwalin, giving a murderous look at Thor as his fingers twitched for a weapon. Dori nodded before he blinked, realizing something.

“Wait…Dwalin, why are you so outraged?”

A young woman named Kaci turned to Gandalf and asked hopefully, “Mister Gandalf, by any chance, does this Thor have a brother? An unattached brother?”

Gandalf grimaced at the thought of Loki.

“Not all Asgardians are like Thor,” Gandalf sidetracked smoothly to Kaci.

Meanwhile, a good number of the males observing this were clearly having a different opinion about Thor.

“He’s not that handsome,” grumbled Legolas, allowing a small frown to appear on his normally stoic face. Kíli was actually pouting like a small child as he huffily crossed his arms over his chest, bad-naturedly.

“For once, I agree with you, Elf. He’s just another pretty ponce who probably is more afraid of damaging his face rather than seeing a war.”

Fíli just couldn’t resist as he teased, “It figures you’d be jealous of a Man who has more of a beard than you.”

Fíli wasn’t the least disappointed when Kíli tackled him in response, leading the two to wrestle and playfully brawl on the ground.

“He calls those muscles? I’ve seen bigger. Those are nothing to gawp over,” muttered Glóin, scowling, as Kíli and Fíli rolled in the dirt behind him, cursing and throwing punches in the meanwhile.

“He’s so arrogant. Even more than Thorin, which is an accomplishment in itself…” grumbled Beorn.

“ _That armor looks absolutely ridiculous. Completely lackluster and shoddy metalwork. I bet that chain-mail would break upon the first swing of an Orc sword_ ,” signed Bifur with his fingers to his brethren.

Bard’s son, Bain, added in nastily, “And a cape? Who actually wears a cape to battle? Who does this Thor think he is? Eru himself?!”

Even Dain got in the act as he grumbled, “Pfft! This Kingdom of Asgard does not sound even remotely wonderful. It is nothing compared to our history and pride of the Lonely Mountain. This Thor is nothing more than a ham, a charlatan, a fabricator of exaggerations!”

At the same time, Bard the Bowman, Bombur, Óin, and Balin were all valiantly trying to hold onto a thrashing Thorin’s arms and body, preventing him from dashing off towards Bilbo and Thor and from committing murder. Bilbo hardly noticed this as he kept blushing furiously, unable to say a word as he kept staring at Thor’s kind eyes and enchanting smile and face.

“What say you, Master Bilbo Baggins?” Thor murmured as he gently placed a warm yet callused hand on Bilbo’s cheek, “Will you grace the Prince of Asgard the honor and the privilege of taking you on yet another adventure?”

Bilbo’s heart was now thudding painfully against his chest, as he faltered, “I…I…”

Was it his imagination, or was Thor actually leaning his face a fraction of an inch closer to his?

There was suddenly a deep and baritone roar, frenzied and incomprehensible, as Bilbo suddenly was jerked away from Thor, a strong arm circled around his waist. Stumbling, Bilbo found himself being herded back behind an enraged and turbulent Thorin who was holding Orcrist out and pointed at Thor. A quick look behind confirmed Bilbo’s suspicions on how Thorin got free, especially since Balin was nursing a bloody nose and Bard the Bowman was lying on the ground in a fetal position, hugging his nether-regions.

The vexed and red-faced Thorin then bellowed like an animal, “LEAVE! YOU CANNOT HAVE HIM! HE IS MINE!”

Thor’s eyes narrowed in offense and anger on Bilbo’s behalf as he rose, the winds starting to pick up and cause his hair to dance around his face. The skies darkened immediately and thunder rumbled ominously as Mjolnir began to sparkle and crackle with electricity.

It was clear Thor was not intimidated in the least.

“Yours?” Thor asked coldly, “Who are you to interrupt this touching moment, vile miscreant?”

“I am King Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór,” snarled Thorin raising his blade to Thor’s throat and face. Thor’s voice got even colder with great mockery behind the deep bass.

“Listen well, King Thorin of Oak’s Shield: you do Bilbo Baggins a great disservice in declaring him as if he is a slave, a piece of property you own. And I daresay it is a wise guess that you know the potential and might of Mjolnir, the hammer I hold in my hands. Tell me, you jealous fool: do you wish to be shortsighted enough to have me smite you where you stand in an instant? Do you wish to make me angry?”

“Please say ‘yes’…” muttered Thranduil.

Bilbo then jumped in front of Thorin, placing himself in between Thor and Thorin, frantic and worried that they would kill one another. Overriding Thorin’s attempts to drag Bilbo back, Bilbo pleaded, “Prince Thor, please, have mercy! Thorin’s just…please, spare him! Do not hurt him! He’s my…my friend.”

Thor didn’t miss the tone of regret in that last word, but he nodded and the skies instantly cleared up, bringing sunlight and soft, cool breezes. Thor lifted an eyebrow to Thorin as if trying to say that unlike the Dwarf, he actually respected Bilbo.

“Damn…” murmured Thranduil under his breath.

Thorin begged Bilbo, “Burgla-…Bilbo, please - ”

Bilbo sounded defeated, tired, as he said strongly, “Thorin, stop. And save yourself the embarrassment. You said previously that a King can never be respected if he stoops to false platitudes.”

Thorin felt his shame and humiliated remorse return ten-fold upon hearing his previous words thrust back at him.

Thorin pleaded, his voice breaking and hoarse with grief, with desperation, “Bilbo, I am sorry. Truly, I am sorry for everything I have said! But please, do not go! Do not leave this world, leave Erebor! Stay with me! Please…I beseech you…”

Bilbo bit his lip before he asked softly, his eyes blank and listless.

“Why? You have your gold, you have your kingdom, you have the Arkenstone back. My contract is fulfilled and I am no longer necessary to serve as your Burglar any longer. Why do you want me to stay?”

Thorin felt his throat clog, nearly choking him as his thoughts raced:

_I love you…_

_Erebor is meaningless and empty without your presence. Stay as my Consort, as my right hand…_

_I made a mistake…_

_I am sorry I treated you so badly throughout the journey. I wish to repay you…_

_You encourage me to be a great King, greater than my Grandfather…_

_You are my friend…_

_I am in your debt. I cannot live with the guilt…  
_  
The looming problem was that none of these were adequately satisfactory to touch Bilbo. After the grand speeches and promises and tender words from Thor, a God and a kind and powerful one at that who loves food, cheer, and flowers…

Well, it made Thorin’s reasons seem like the foulest pig manure in comparison.

Damn it to Mahal, of all the times Thorin had to be struck with an inferiority complex!

Thorin then decided to go for the only honest thing he could truly say.

“Because I’m an idiot...but you make me desire to be a better idiot.”

One second passed, then two. And all Bilbo did was blink as he stared at Thorin, his face blank but his eyes wide and shocked and his lips pursued tightly together.

The crowd tittered nervously in the background. Dain just groaned and covered his eyes with one hand.

“That…wasn’t very romantic, was it?” Bain asked his sister.

“No, I daresay it was not,” sighed Sigrid.

Thorin inwardly panicked.

Oh by Mahal and all the Valar together, that was going to make Bilbo run away, screaming in anger, and right into Thor’s arms…

Thorin wondered if it would be rather undignified and un-majestic if he slit his own throat with Orcrist right now.

“Bilbo!” Thorin stammered, close to having an absolute nervous breakdown, “I…I did not mean it the way it sounded! I was a fool! I meant no offense! Please do not - !”

Thorin then found himself unable to say anything else as Bilbo’s face softened and with a small jump, he clasped his hands around Thorin’s neck and kissed the Dwarf, crashing his lips against Thorin’s roughly. Thorin was so, so thankful and relieved, he could have sobbed uncharacteristically as he dropped his sword and enveloped Bilbo into his burly arms, returning the kiss with all of his might.

There was a sudden cheer from Nori.

“PAY UP!”

There was a series of grumbling, muttered curses, and evil eyes as Dwarves, Men, and even a few Elves tossed leather pouches of money towards the Dwarf thief. Nor gleefully cackled as he took in all the loot he won.

Then, to everyone’s astonishment, there was a loud cough from King Thranduil as he extended out his palm towards Nori.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, here’s your share of the winnings, your Majesty,” Nori said dismissively as he handed the Thranduil a few clear diamonds that sparkled like the brightest stars at dusk.

“Ada?” Legolas asked, completely in shock. The Elven King of Mirkwood scoffed as he fingered the gems reverently in his hand.

“I am biased, not blind,” retorted Thranduil.

Radagast turned to Gandalf as asked, one eyebrow raised, “You knew, didn’t you?”

“I had a feeling,” Gandalf replied flippantly as he blew out smoke in the shape of a heart.

“Let me get this straight,” wheezed Bard, finally recovering the punch Thorin delivered to his crotch, “Bilbo chose Thorin Oakenshield? OVER HIM?!”

He indicated towards Thor with a rather disbelieving nod of his head.

“Little Bunny must truly love King Grumpypants,” Beorn the Bear-Man cheered.

“Thank Mahal for small favors…” sighed Dain, rolling his eyes to the sky.

Bombur then noticed the sad expression of disappointment on Bofur’s face, and concerned, he leaned over and asked clandestinely in Bofur’s ear, “Will you be all right?”

Bofur pondered that, but he looked up to see the radiant expression of joy on Bilbo’s face, and he shook off the hurt, saying amicably, “Aye, I will. He’s happy, and I cannot ask for more than that.”

“You’re a good soul,” Bombur whispered in support as he gave his brother a comforting hug.

Breathless and panting slightly, Bilbo and Thorin broke the kiss, with Thorin mentally saying a “thank you” to Eru and every Valar known to Dwarfdom as he brought his forehead to Bilbo’s, extremely grateful and with his eyes stinging. Bilbo just giggled with fatigue and relief. Thor, though a bit disappointed, smiled with acceptance.

“Is this your decision, Master Baggins?”

“Yes,” Bilbo said, turning to face the blond warrior before he added with an afterthought, “I’m sorry if I hurt you, but I cannot go with you to Asgard. Please, take no offense, Prince Thor.”

Thor chuckled as he then took one of Bilbo’s hands in his. Ever so compassionate towards others and gentle, this Hobbit was.

“Nay,” Thor murmured, “Do not apologize for love, for what your heart tells you. I shall respect your decision to the utmost honor and respect. But just know that I shall keep my promise to pay back the debt I owe you. My friend and trusted warrior, Heimdall shall be watching this world from now on. If you ever require my assistance or wish to visit my homeland, just look up to the skies and call my name. And then, I shall come with great speed and haste…my fellow Mjolnir brother.”

Bilbo got the feeling that Thor blessed him with a very high honor as the Asgardian’s blue eyes twinkled before he leaned forward and kissed the top of Bilbo’s head reverently.

“You have your damned hammer. I believe you can go now,” Thorin’s voice growled behind Bilbo, so cold and frigid that one had to wonder if the Dwarf King could cause an entire field to wither with the tone of his voice. Thor gave Thorin a rather unimpressed look, but he rose up gracefully, donned his helmet, and started walking away.

With baited breath, the audience of Dwarves, Elves, and Men watched Thor Odinson stride away from Thorin and Bilbo before Thor’s voice then rang out powerfully.

“It is rather a shame we could not have dueled with Bilbo Baggins’ honor and affections, King Oak of Shield! I would have looked forward to sparring with you, even though it would not have taken much effort to woo Bilbo away…”

Thor then gave a wicked smirk to Thorin.

“…because I know my hammer is bigger than yours.”

Thor then teleported away in a pillar of rainbow-colored light right before a roaring Thorin could cleave the Norse god in half with Orcrist, leaving the King to swing nothing but empty air amid the hooting and laughter from the spectators all around.

* * *

Bilbo and Thorin spent the entire day in Thorin’s bedchambers, with Thorin tearfully hugging and whispering broken apologies in Westron and Khuzdul, promising Bilbo reparations and how he would spend the rest of his life in atonement to make up for how horrible he had been to the Hobbit who singlehandedly saved his life, his nephews’ lives, the Company’s lives, and who did not abandon him.  
  
Bilbo, in typical fashion, forgave Thorin and allowed the Dwarf to cuddle, hold him close, and snuggle against his naked body while whispering poetry and love sonnets in the Hobbit’s ears, their limbs and hands entwined.  
  
Although Bilbo protested that there was nothing wrong with the size of Thorin’s “hammer” and no, Bilbo was not in the mood for Thorin to prove it a third time considering that he was quite sore and exhausted at this point.

* * *

Much later, Bilbo was finishing his tale of how he came across the trinket in the Goblin Caves that saved everyone’s lives as they had a private dinner near the fireplace in Thorin’s bedchambers. Kíli and Fíli were both amazed while Thorin frowned, fingering the plain, insignificant gold band between his thumb and forefinger.  
  
Strange. It was not ordinary gold, and yet the design was so simple, almost ordinary…  
  
“By the beard and forge of Mahal, you have the strangest and best kinds of luck in finding magical objects, Auntie Bilbo!” marveled Kíli.  
  
“Don’t call me that,” scolded Bilbo, but he did it with a smile as he pushed over his last scone to the dark haired Prince who snatched it happily, leaving a mournful Fíli to look at the crumbs on the plate.  
  
Not paying attention to the side conversation, Thorin shuddered to himself, not entirely sure why exactly before he returned the gold ring to an antsy Bilbo (with some difficulty). Then again, after his delusion and fervent obsession with the Arkenstone, it was a painful reminder, and Thorin found himself glad to have it leave his hands.  
  
There was a sudden series of crashing and banging in the room next door as a rather bloody and violent brawl began to break out…  
  
“YOU DAMNED, UNCOUTH, RAT-FACED, TREE-SHAGGING TROLL!” Dori was heard roaring.  
  
“Lay off, you annoying mother-hen! This ‘troll’ was actually respectful enough to be the one to tell you! Ori and Nori wanted to keep it hidden!” bellowed Dwalin in return as there was a massive thud against the stone walls as if a body was forcibly thrown against it.  
  
There was a relentless roar as Dori picked himself back up from the ground before shouting, “You violated him! You corrupted my baby brother, you despicable pig!”  
  
There was a heavy thud against the floor which sounded like someone was tackled to the ground.  
  
“Oh please, if anything, by Mahal, Ori needed to run away from your henpecking and your constant nagging, you worry-wart!”  
  
There was a sudden swish of something flying in the air before Dwalin’s grunt of surprise and a crash. Thorin had a sinking feeling Dori used his metal bolas…  
  
“I! WILL! NEVER! GIVE! MY! BLESSING!” Dori yelled, each word punctuated with a slamming pound on the floor that was intense enough to be felt by Bilbo, Thorin, Kíli, and Fíli, all of whom were sitting in their chairs. Thorin only hoped that Dwalin’s head was as hard as Balin always said it was.  
  
Smash!  
  
Bilbo winced; that sounded like something porcelain…  
  
“Yaaaaahhh! My face! My head!” Dori was literally screeching.  
  
“Quit your whining! It was only your stupid teapot!”  
  
“It’s the teapot Ori made for me when he was a Dwarfling!”  
  
“…all right, now I feel a little bad about it. Though not much.”  
  
One could actually hear the sneer Dwalin added in that last sentence.  
  
“DIE!” shouted Dori.  
  
This led to a new plethora of the sounds of crashing, punching, objects breaking, and a multitude of curses in Khuzdul screamed at the top of Dori and Dwalin’s lungs. In fact, it was getting so violent, the vibrations of the fight were causing bits of rock and pebbles to rain slightly from the ceiling.  
  
“Dori just found out that Dwalin and Ori have been secretly courting?” Bilbo asked, deadpanned.  
  
“Yes, and Nori won the pool,” Kíli commented with a smile. Fíli looked less gracious.  
  
“I’m quite sure that Nori cheated somehow,” the blond Prince grumbled, “No one wins that many betting pools!”  
  
“Believe it or not, this is merely coincidental. The only reason Dwalin confessed to Dori now was because Tauriel took both he and Ori aside and advised them that Dori would be far more offended and hurt the longer they kept their courtship secret from him. And as much as Dori protests, he is still Ori’s family.”  
  
Thorin raised an eyebrow. Dwalin taking advice from an Elf? Willingly?  
  
This truly was a new beginning for all of the Company…  
  
“So Tauriel is enjoying your company?” Bilbo asked with a smile. Perhaps there was some hope for peace and friendship between the Dwarves and Elves after all…  
  
Kíli chimed, “Yes, and she seems content in seeing the wonders of Erebor and staying in the Lonely Mountain for a week or two. She has already requested permissions from Thranduil to act as a liaison between Mirkwood and Erebor along with yours truly. It shall give us plenty of time to get to know each other a bit better.”  
  
Fíli made a noise of realization as he commented, “So that explains why Prince Legolas has been sulking and practicing his archery all day in the Elf camps. And why all the targets have Kíli’s face painted on them.”  
  
Kíli’s smile grew even wider.  
  
“You should have seen how red he turned when Tauriel made her announcement publicly.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure that was because you stuck your tongue out at him behind Tauriel’s back,” Thorin flatly stated.  
  
“I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, Uncle,” Kíli said with a mischievous grin and a tone of voice that was anything but innocent. Fíli chuckled before he had a thought strike him.  
  
“Bilbo, do you think that we should be wary of Gollum in the future? He may track you down from the Goblin Caves, looking for you. Especially if he’s as possessed with the ring as you say he is. He could be a future danger later.”  
  
“Perhaps we should be on guard. I do not want another incident with a magical object bringing unwanted guests…” grumbled Thorin as he brought Bilbo closed to his chest with his burly arms, snuggling his Consort and kissing the top of Bilbo’s curls affectionately. Mahal only knew how much he wanted to never see Thor again for the rest of his life…  
  
Kíli then grinned as he jovially teased, “Oh, come now! I daresay the worst is certainly now over! This Gollum character does not even sound remotely dangerous! And besides, what possible danger can happen from a single, insignificant, plain ring that can turn Hobbits invisible?”

* * *

Sixty five years later, Thorin Oakenshield actually throttled (yes, throttled) Kíli right in the middle of the Council of Elrond for saying those exact words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have fanart! Thank you to the marvelous akahime4!
> 
> http://akahime4.tumblr.com/post/84147926017/so-this-is-from-the-story-the-hammer-and-the
> 
> Many thanks for the artwork of this chapter (my, my, my, Thorin's just so happy, isn't he?) by [closetshipping](http://closetshipping.tumblr.com) on tumblr.  
> This chapter is dedicated to the marvelous tumblr artist Kaciart at http://kaciart.tumblr.com/. Kaci, thank you for gracing us with all of your Hobbit/Marvel fanart.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed this crossover! And I may be teasing the thought of another one-shot where Thor brings his friend, Steve Rogers to Erebor for a visit! With Steve and Ori becoming Artist BFFs! With a fuming Dwalin losing it when he finds a sketch in Ori's notebook. Of Steve Rogers. Posing on Ori's bed. Naked. That would be when Dwalin ups the assassination attempts...


	4. Draw Me Like A Dwarrowdam, Ori

                “Tell us a story, Elder Ori!” chimed in a toddler from Dale as the old and ancient Ori was gently eased into the armchair next to the roaring fireplace by his son.  Sighing in contentment, Ori nodded his thanks at firstborn, and with that, the burly and gray-haired Dwarf walked away before leaning against the doorway to the parlor with a relaxed smile.

                Watching his father, the beloved Storyteller of Erebor.  Watching the numerous children crowding around him with puppy eyes and adoring expressions.

                One female young Hobbit handed Ori a large cup of nutmeg tea (Ori’s favorite) as the other young Dwarves, humans, Hobbits, and Elves clamored eagerly.

                “Oh, yes!  Please do!  Yes, tell us a story!  Tell us a story!  No one can tell stories like you Elder Ori!  **_Please?!_**   Make it a long one!”

                Ori pretended to think about the request, long and hard and scratching his frizzy and patchy beard.  But Ori’s son, who was watching this from the doorway, knew his father could never refuse to the young ones.  Except for rare cases when he was sick, Ori always never failed to give in and retell an entertaining chronicle once a week.

                Especially during the dark days of the War of the Ring, Ori was seen telling stories to the scared children as the combined armies of Erebor, Dale and Greenwood fought against Sauron’s armies and the Easterlings.

                This room, this weekly occasion, was a sacred and providential time for everyone.

                It was amazing how much excitement and warmth could come from a single cavern within the Lonely Mountain.

                “All right, all right, you young scamps have convinced me…” Ori chuckled before he motioned the crowd to sit down with one withered hand, which they all did so eagerly on the Warg-skin rug, tightly packed like canned sardines.  It did not matter if the children were sitting with their own race or not.  Elves sat with Dwarflings, human boys and girls eagerly made space for the smaller Hobbit progenies to sit in their laps, and one female Elf even allowed a male teenager Dwarf to cuddle against her, the two of them smiling exactly like Kíli and Tauriel when they courted.

                No matter what their race and culture, it was a time they could all enjoy Ori’s tales together, without fighting and as a community.

                If Bilbo were still alive, he would have been immensely proud.

                Taking another sip and reveling in the warmth spreading to his creaking bones, the Dwarf scribe enjoyed the comfort before he asked the innocent question.

                “Now, which story would you all like?”

                This immediately set out a round of suggestions and demands.

                “Tell us the story of Lady Darcy Lewis, Black Panther, and Prince Legolas’ journey to Mount Gandabad!”

                “That’s boring!  We should pick an exciting one!  Like when Lady Tilda and Lady Sigrid earned their roles as the Wasp and the Bumblebee from Mister Pym!”

                “How about the Kree Invasion of Isengard?”

                “No!  I want to hear how Prince Kíli and Fíli rode Lockjaw to win the Battle of Helm’s Deep!”

                “We heard that **last** week!”

                “Well it’s my favorite.  I wish to hear it again.”

                “Sod off!  Elder Ori should talk of when Captain Marvel and Quicksilver traveled with Arwen to the East!”

                “Tell us when Sir Coulson teamed up with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and Tom Bombadil to take out an entire army of Variags single-handedly!”

                “Personally, I would love to hear the tale of how Master Hawkeye saved Haldir’s life and became an Elf-Friend.  It’s been so long since I last heard that one.”

                “I’m in the mood for a funny story.  Oh!  How about the time when Lady Galadriel turned Tony Stark into a woman?!”

                There was immediately silence when Ori weakly raised a hand; it was amazing how much presence the old Dwarf could command from the children with just one gesture.  Ori then put out a suggestion.

                “How about I tell the story of Thor Odinson?  Of when he returned to Erebor after the Battle of the Five Armies with his good friend, Steven Rogers?”

                From the background, Ori’s son smiled underneath his beard.

                All the children cheered and clamored excitedly before they became silent as Ori began to speak, wistfully relishing the memories.  The old Dwarf started off his tale as he leaned back against his easy chair and cradled his hot cup of tea.

                “It was a little more than a year after Erebor was reclaimed and after the Battle of the Five Armies,” Ori narrated, “We did not know it at the time, but despite what Thorin Oakenshield claimed, the arrival of Thor Odinson and Steven Rogers was a blessing from the Valar…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read more at [Draw Me Like A Dwarrowdam, Ori](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3735328/chapters/8279173)


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